


Dean Winchester vs. the World

by mishaphappens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: spn_j2_bigbang, M/M, Rating: NC17, Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishaphappens/pseuds/mishaphappens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to date his brother, Dean Winchester has to defeat Sam's seven evil exes.  Inspired by Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester vs. the World

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started this fic about...two or three years ago for alakewood's fic request. I actually had it mostly complete two years ago, but I started a new job and I couldn't get around to working on the beta jobs for it...And ultimately, something was severely wrong with the character motivations that I was having a hard time wrapping my brain around. Granted, it's crack so it shouldn't make TOO much sense, but you know. Anyways, it took me forever, but here is your request, darling! Many people helped with this thing too, so thank you thank you to _bluebells and cheri_morte. Thank you for all my LJ friends who have patiently heard me whine about this thing for years. As Dean says, "You're awesome."
> 
> Enjoy!

It takes Dean two months before he can open the trunk of the Impala.  And when he does, all he can do is stare at Sam’s pack.  A manila folder of his notes on the Apocalypse and Lucifer—things that couldn’t fit in the journal—peeks from underneath it.  Dean finds his favorite sleep shirt scrunched up in the back, collecting dust, and there’s a couple of empty beer bottles next to their old-as-shit cooler.  Brown crusty rings stain the carpet where hot demon blood spilled from the plastic milk cartons before Sam drank from them.  Underneath, in the secret compartment, is his weapons; guns full of bullets, blades lined with dead man’s blood, and enough salt to send any man’s blood pressure skyrocketing just by looking at it.  Dean knows that he needs to get rid of this stuff, in case Ben finds it.  Dean’s faced too many spirits with their heads blown off just because the kid’s parents didn’t have enough sense to lock this shit up.

Dean grabs Sam’s bag, hauls it up a few inches; it’s lighter than he remembers, but it still slips from his fingers, falls back to the floor.  He slams the trunk close, double checks that it’s locked, and then pretends he isn’t running back to the house and the bottle of whiskey he left on the kitchen counter.

 

:::

 

Two months later, Dean fucks it all up.  He’s not really sure on the details, except that they're fighting a lot.  First, Lisa wants him to talk someone.  He tells her that’s kind of hard to do, since no one knows about demons or angels or ghosts and thus, they would think he is all sorts of crazy and would lock him up.  Then she suggests that he get a hobby.  Dean thinks his hobby of drinking is sufficient enough.  Lisa disagrees.  And it kind of just goes from there.

Dean tries.  He does.  He gets a regular job, and he buys a regular car, and he does those regular things.  He teaches Ben how to play baseball, just like he taught Sammy.  He barbeques on the grill and makes nice with the other men in the neighborhood.  He even makes a few friends, playing poker with Mike on Thursday nights and having dinner with his coworkers on Fridays.  And at night, after having enough liquor to make the world just shy of hazy, Dean lies with Lisa and coaxes sweet sounds out of her, and for just a moment, he can put it all aside.

But it always comes back.  He either wakes up screaming or crying from nightmares he can’t share with Lisa, no matter how much she tries to get him to tell her.  He couldn’t even tell Sammy this shit and then she expects him to?  And then there’s that constant ache, like Dean’s missing a piece of himself, and you know what?  He is, goddamnit, and Lisa can’t fill it or replace it.  She can only soothe it for a little bit and somehow, along the way, she realizes it, just like all the other women in Dean’s life.  They realize they’re never going to get him because somebody already has.

Castiel visits him sometimes.  He shows up in the backyard or on the porch and Dean will get him a beer and they’ll sit in silence, watching the normal life breathe and pass them by.  Sometimes the angel looks like he wants to say something, but he never does.  He doesn’t like Lisa much.  Dean doesn’t understand, but can’t bring himself to ask why.  Like he can’t really bring himself to talk about Hell or Heaven or Sam.

It’s Dean who calls it quits.  He can see himself slowly eroding away Lisa’s perfect little life.  He can see the kind of example he’s setting for Ben, knows he’s becoming exactly like his father.  Dad never got over Mary; he pushed it down every day by either killing something or drinking it away.  Now that’s Dean, and he doesn’t want Ben to witness that, can’t make the kid try to put him together and fail every time.

Castiel helps him move his things while Lisa is at work and Ben’s at school.  He contemplates bailing without a word, but they deserve better than that.  He feels like a failure, breaking Sammy’s promise, but he can’t do this to them.  He can’t be a father or a husband; he doesn’t know what those things mean.  And it fucking sucks, because Dean loves Lisa in his way.  If it didn’t feel like he was breathing around a knife all the time, he knew he could be happy with her.  But he has a feeling Lisa would never really be happy with him and that he’ll fail Ben somehow, just like he failed Sammy and Dad all the time, and he just can’t go through that anymore.

“You’re such a coward,” Lisa says angrily after she orders Ben to his room.  She takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling, and blinks frantically.

“It’s because of Sam, isn’t it?" she asks but doesn’t really.

“I miss him,” is all Dean can say.

“I miss my parents,” she says. “But I don’t stop living because they’re gone.”

She doesn’t get it.  No one really does.

Dean promises he’ll still be around for them.  He doesn’t want to just leave and never come back, but he doesn’t know any other way to live.

 

:::

 

It’s  just another Sunday morning and Dean’s working on his second shot of whiskey when the doorbell rings.  Dean finishes the drink with a mild wince and then pushes the glass away.  He’s moved into a basement apartment not far from Lisa, and he isn’t sure, but he thinks he promised Ben to hang out with him today.  He grabs a piece of gum to mask the alcohol on his breath and brushes at his hair, trudging up the stairs.  The door creaks loudly as he opens it, and there, standing on his porch like they come by every Sunday, is Castiel, Adam, and…and Sam.  Dean gawks.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says formally.  Adam looks decidedly grumpy, arms crossed in front of his chest as he glances around the property.  Sam stares at Dean with dark circles under his eyes, a disbelieving, hopeful expression on his face.

The only thing Dean can think is, “What the fuck?”

Sam snorts.  Castiel’s lips turn up in the corners. 

Adam says, “I need a drink.”

 

:::

 

“What the fuck?” Dean says again, clenching the drink in front of him of him in lieu of punching Castiel in the face.

“In defense, God is very busy,” Castiel says.  All four men are grouped around the dining table, with Castiel sitting next to Dean and Sam across.  Dean can hardly keep his eyes off his brother, who looks worn and beaten down, but the smile he keeps sending Dean’s way still says Sam, still says home.  All he wants to do is hug his brother, grab him close and then punch his lights out for making Dean promise, for making him choose a life without Sam.  But for now, Dean settles for pressing his boot against Sam’s, pressing harder and harder and Sam pushing right back.

“He let Sam and Adam rot in Lucifer’s cage for _months_ and all you can say is he was _busy_?” Dean asks.

Castiel looks a little guilty, which is saying a lot.  He takes the shot Adam pours for him.

“Heaven is in chaos now that He’s returned,” he explains solemnly.  “He is trying to set things right.”

“He should have been around in the first place,” Dean snaps and Sam moves a bit, until their knees brush.  “Better yet, when he snapped his fingers and brought you back, he should have pulled these two out of the pit at the same time!”

“Can we stop talking about this?” Adam pitches in finally, gulping down another shot.  “You keep reminding me of what I’m trying to forget.”

“He’s right, Dean,” Sam says gently, in the tone that always calms Dean’s temper.  “We’re back.  Isn’t that what’s important?”

Dean stares at Sam, trying to find if there’s anything wrong with him.  Does he have to worry about the demon blood or is Sam gonna be fucked up like Dean after he got out of the pit, or _is it really his brother_?  It looks like him, smells like him, talks like him.  Even the same desperate, hero-worshipping gaze that Dean missed far too much is still there.

Adam shakes the nearly empty bottle and says, “So, hey, you got anything stronger?”

 

:::

 

They’re well on their way to being shitfaced (except Castiel, of course) by noon. 

Dean pushes aside thoughts of Lisa and Ben for a moment and what they’re going to think when they get here, so instead, he watches Sam smile.  He laughs when Dean tells him about his first adventure buying toilet paper and _Did you know how many fucking different brands there were?_ and _Don’t even get me started on the tampons, Sammy, because it would **scar you for life**._   

Dean doesn’t talk about his drinking problem, Sam and Adam don’t talk about the cage, and Castiel doesn’t mention the wars in Heaven.  Instead, they talk about other normal things, like debating over who would win in a bar fight with a nail filer, Sarah Palin or Fred Durst (“Oh my God,” Adam bemoans, “she’s still alive?”) and whether it’s better to bring a knife or a gun to fight swamp monsters (“Why can’t you bring the Hand of Smite?” Castiel pouts.  “It’s a better option than either of those.”)

“So, man,” Dean says, bouncing a quarter into his shot glass.  He glances smugly at Castiel as the angel is forced to drink before looking back at Adam.  “What are your plans?  Thinking about going back to college?”

Adam raises his head from the table and slams back another shot of Malibu Rum (“Shut up, it’s Lisa's” Dean says when he comes back from searching the apartment for more booze and Sam gives him The Eyebrow). 

“Nope.” He puts on his jacket as he sways to his feet, burping lightly. “My plans--” He walks unsteadily to the front door and opens it.  “My plan is to get laid.”

“Dude, you’re too drunk to drive,” Dean says somewhat firmly, if the words weren’t getting stuck in his mouth.

“If I die,” Adam says, squinting at the bright, afternoon sun, “again, that is, I’ll see you guys in Heaven.”  He walks out and noisily makes his way up the steps, cursing at the unsteady foundation.

Dean sighs. “Cas, if you wouldn’t mind--" But the angel is already gone, trailing after the youngest, and suddenly Sam and Dean are alone.

 They stare at each other in the silence, Dean listening to the ticking clock in the kitchen and Sam’s unsteady breathing.  Sam is drunk as fuck, his eyes blown and slightly swaying in his seat, and Dean knows he’s not much different.  Suddenly, all the suppressed emotions and desire wells up to the surface and Dean chokes on it, Sam getting blurrier by the second. 

“Hey,” Sam reaches across the table and wraps his fingers around Dean's wrist, gripping on tight.  Dean fumbles, leaning forward, and grabs Sam’s face, holding on in the same way when Sam died last time, and Dean can’t breathe.

“You okay?” Dean gasps out, chest heaving.  “You okay, Sammy?”  Because he has to know, he has to know his baby brother is all right, that they’re going to be all right this time, and nothing is going to creep out after them—no deals, no demons, no devil.  That Hell didn’t break him, that Sam still loves him and needs him, after all this time, after all they’ve been through. 

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam says softly, a huff of breath on Dean’s face, and then Sam is pressing his forehead against Dean's.  “I’ll be all right.  I’ll be fine.”

It’s not the right answer, it’s not correctly phrased, but Dean is drunk, and he can’t figure out why and then Lisa and Ben are walking through the door.

 

:::

 

A week later, Sam and Adam are moving into the shabby, two-bedroom apartment.  The term ‘move’ is loosely applied, as it seems Dean is the only one who’s acquired any stuff.  Sam carries the duffle bag he’s always had over his shoulder and plops it down on one of the twin mattresses in their room, before he pulls back the dirty shades to let in a little light.  The place isn’t exactly up to safety codes, but Dean can afford it with his construction job until Sam and Adam get on their feet.  Dean wondered if they would go back to hunting, but it seemed to be some unspoken thing, and quite honestly, they all needed a break.

“Look, I can sleep on the couch,” Adam says from the doorway, glancing around the shared bedroom.

“Nah,” Dean says.  He shares a small look with Sam.  “We’re used to it.”

Adam shrugs.  “All right.  More sex for me.” He leaves the doorway to check out his own bedroom and Sam smiles slightly.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Sam asks.

 “I’m sure, Sammy,” Dean says firmly. 

“What about Lisa and Ben?”

Dean shrugs, uncomfortable.

“I thought you said you would...”

“I tried.”

“What happened?”

Dean shrugs again.  There’s only one chest of drawers and no closet, so that means they’d have to share.  Just like old times.  Dean shoves his underwear to one side of the drawers and then rolls up his shirts to make more room.

“It didn’t work out,” Dean finally says to Sam’s persistent silence.  “It’s not like I’m not in their lives.  I’m taking Ben to his basketball game later this week.”

“I just thought,” Sam says, pausing.  “I thought you were really building something there.”

“I was building up my alcohol tolerance, you mean,” Dean says, dumping the miscellaneous things he found scattered in the Impala out of a plastic bag.  The DVD case of _Casa Erotica_ , homage to Gabriel, appears under the rubble and Dean shakes his head with a grin.  There's even a little inscription for Dean written on the front that still confuses the hell out of him.  He shoves the DVD away.  “Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”

It takes a moment, but Sam finally says, “Okay.”  He follows Dean and starts unpacking his things, but more slowly, like he’s rediscovering his favorite clothes all over again.  Dean supposes he is.  Forty years or so in the cage could make one forget a lot of things.  Sam’s hands lightly run over the hoodie he always wears when he’s sick, looking a little lost in the face as he tries to recall what kind of comfort it used to bring.  When Sam unpacks the pink shirt he was obsessed over, a twinge of a smile appears, looking almost as embarrassed as Dean felt whenever his brother wore it.  But then again, it did make Sammy look good.  Finally, at the bottom of the bag, is Sam’s favorite watch.  He stares at it, thumb running over the used leather.  He places it against his wrist, as if testing to see if it still fits.  Dean abandons his jeans and walks over, grabbing the watch.  Silently, Sam offers his arm, palm turned up, and Dean wraps the watch around the frail bone.  The scar of when he broke his wrist against the zombie chick is gone and Dean misses it suddenly and completely.  It’s not right that Hell tears up a person limb from limb and doesn’t leave a mark.

Dean looks up and finds Sam staring at him, with the same expression he wore when he first saw Dean a week ago.  Like he’s astonished that he’s there, glad that he is, and afraid that Dean’s just going to disappear.  There’s something else there too, something Dean hasn’t quite figured out.  Something guarded and hurt and broken and it makes Dean want to do things, like fix the world, or learn how to fly, or hold Sam like he’s the glue to all of Sam’s broken pieces.

“So, I’m going to a party tonight!” Adam shouts from the kitchen.  Dean finishes the binding and steps back, embarrassed.

Sam blinks, like coming out of a spell, and glances at his wrist, fixing the strap until the watch lies just perfect. 

“How do you even know anyone yet?” Sam asks, bewildered.

“I go out, unlike you homebodies,” Adam says, appearing in the doorway again and opening a beer.  “You guys should try it sometime.”

Sam frowns at the beer but doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe you two can come with me,” Adam suggests.

“To a party?” Sam’s nose wrinkles.

“Yes, Sam,” Adam answers, eyes rolling.  “Where there will be loud music, obscenely dressed chicks, and lots of free beer.”

“I like the sound of free beer,” Dean pitches in.

“Right, it’s settled then,” Adam says and turns away, pulling out his phone and madly texting.

“I don’t know…” Sam starts.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean says, returning to his bag.  Maybe this is what Sam needs.  A little human interaction, a little fun in his world.  “It’ll be fun.”

 

:::

 

It's actually Dean who has way too much fun.  He leans against Sam, feet like heavy weights, and sings under his breath.  He wants to sleep, but Sam keeps jostling him to move.

"Lush," his brother bickers as they slip in the snow, and Sam barely keeps them standing.

"Am not," Dean pouts and then starts laughing, reflecting on tonight's events.  Castiel ended up coming along with them, and they found themselves playing some sort of video game, Rock Guitar or something.  Sam had opted out of the whole affair, but Adam, Castiel, and Dean spent a good portion of the night playing AC / DC and Kansas.  Castiel was actually shockingly good at the drums, but Dean has a sneaking suspicion that he was using his angel mojo.

After that, Dean spent the rest of the evening spreading scandalous tales about Sam to the other party goers.  Things like how he climbed Mt. Everest when he was thirteen, and he ran away with a black guy at sixteen just like the Huck Finn guy, and, oh, Dean's personal favorite: that Sam recently crawled out of Hell and was now looking for a full-time job.  For some reason, most people didn't believe the last one.

Dean sighs happily, leaning his head back, falling snow melting on his face.  The sky’s pitch black beyond the glare of the street lights and Dean thinks about their favorite pastime, Sam and him, sitting on the Impala and drinking a few beers, looking at the stars.

"Miss 'em," Dean slurs.

"Miss what?" Sam grunts, shifting Dean's weight.

"The stars."

Sam makes another noise and they walk a few more minutes in silence, snow crunching underneath their feet.  Finally, Sam replies, "Missed them too."

That seems to sober Dean up considerably, thinking about what the cage must have been like.  Adam and Sam never say a word about it.  Dean wants to know, needs to compare it in some way to his own nightmares of hell, but he remembers how it took him four months to even to admit to Sam that he remembered Hell.  He wonders if Sam will ever tell him.

Dean doesn't mean to, but he has Sam split into two people inside his head: Sam, before Hell, before demon blood, before freaky mind powers.  And then this Sam, Sam who drank blood and lied and grieved and looked for redemption by throwing himself into the pit.  Like two mirror images, looking the same on the outside, but completely different on the inside.

Maybe they can finally rest from all of this.  Maybe it's not too late to see that old Sam, get him back in some way.  Give it time, give it space, and maybe Sam will get better and it'll be like it always was: them, the road, the Impala, and the hunts that didn't end with deals, demons, and the devil.  It's foolish to hope, but Dean can't suppress how much he wants Sam to be okay, wants them to be okay.

"What are you thinking about?" Sam asks.

"About how you used to be a cop, until you found your true calling in hair dressing," Dean answers automatically, shying away from such dark thoughts.  No need for Sam to know them, ever.

"You are such an ass," Sam grumbles.

"Of course, people wouldn't ever know it with _your_ hair," Dean says.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"Oh, nothing, Samantha.  It's just so pretty and looong."  Sam dodges Dean's reaching fingers and the older brother laughs at his pissed off expression.

"I can't believe you told those people all that stuff," Sam says.

"Don't worry," Dean replies, "I told them some good stuff too.  Like how you can go for hours in bed."

Sam rolls his eyes.

"That you can do this little thing with your leg and--"

"Did you ever stop to think about how weird it is that you're telling people that?"

Dean stops mid-sentence.  Sam looks at him smugly.

"Hey, no," Dean points a finger in Sam's face, "no, they totally knew that we're straight."

"And you wonder why people think we're a gay couple," Sam mutters.

Dean mulls on that for a moment.  It's actually been a couple of years since people mistook them for homosexuals.  There'd been so much mistrust and lies between them that it'd been impossible to have the close relationship they used to have.  But now that Sam and he share similar T-shirts of 'I went to Hell and all I got was some crappy memories', they seem more in-step than ever.  Still searching, still testing, but together in their stumblings. 

The thing is, Dean still trusts Sam more than anyone else. 

He would put his life on the line for the kid, not because of some simple duty to protect him, but because he wants to.  He loves Sam, loves every little fucked up piece of him.  Loves the kid who wanted to become a lawyer; who hunts and saves people with little regard to himself; who would do anything to save his older brother; who would drink demon blood and become a monster; the kid who would spend an eternity with Lucifer to save the world and then tell Dean to go have a happy, apple-pie life, like it's just that simple. 

Dean's feelings for Sam were never that simple.  It's fucked up, twisted inside him, to the point that he's felt like a ghost the last few months.  Without Sam, there isn't really a Dean.  He can't be in this world or in Heaven without his little brother.  Because they were...

They are Sam and Dean.

"And you say I think too much," Sam says, curling a warm hand around Dean's waist.

"Shut up, bitch."

"Make me, jerk."

So Dean does.  He leans over and grabs a handful of snow, smashing it into Sam's hair.  Sam makes a little gasping noise before he jerks away, leaving Dean to wobble on his own drunken legs. 

"Asshole!" Sam hisses, but there's no real heat behind it, and then he's grabbing his own snowball, launching it at Dean's face.  Dean only dodges it because he slips on some ice and crashes on his ass.  Sam laughs so hard, he doubles over, grabbing onto a bike rack to keep his own balance.

"Your _face_!" He gasps.

"Still better looking than yours!" Dean retorts, throwing snowball after snowball halfheartedly, because goddamnit, his ass hurts.  They hurtle past Sam, a few hitting him in the chest.  When Sam finally collects himself, he comes over and offers a hand up.  Dean takes it, then uses his weight to throw Sam down into the snow.

"You're going to regret this in a minute," Sam's muffled voice filters through the snow.

"Promises, promises," Dean says, and smiling, closes his eyes, feeling the snow fall on his face.

 

:::

 

Sam plops Dean into the chair at the kitchen table, grumbling about his wet clothes.

"You want some tea?" Sam asks.

"Sure," Dean replies, shucking off his coat and trying to get his soaked jeans undone, but it's too much work for his drunk fingers.  Instead, he reaches over to the couch and grabs the blanket, curling it around his shoulders.

"What kind?" Sam opens the cabinets, shifting through the contents.

"What did Lisa give us?"

"Hm.  Blueberry, Raspberry, Ginseng, Chai, African Red Bush, Mint Magic, Green Tea, Green Tea With Lemon, Green Tea With Lemon and Honey, Liver Disaster, Ginger with Honey." Sam takes a breath.  "Ginger without Honey, Vanilla Almond, White Truffle Coconut, Chamomile, Blueberry Chamomile, Decaf Vanilla Walnut, Sleepytime Decaf Lemon Jasmine Green, Constant Comment, aaand...Earl Grey."

Dean's squints suspiciously.  "Did you make some of those up?"

"Sleepytime it is," Sam says and throws a pot of hard water on the burner. 

He starts stripping out of his clothes right in the kitchen, nudging his shoes off by the backs like he did as a kid.  Next goes his hoodie, and Dean watches it carry his red shirt up with it, exposing his flat stomach and the hair leading into his boxers and jeans.  Dean can't seem to look away, kind of like when he finds himself staring at some far off object, and he keeps opening his eyes wider and wider, hoping for the blink and snap, but it never comes.  Dean covers his mouth, feeling it grow dry.   Sam is confident and relaxed, used to Dean's eyes on him, and something about that causes a low throb in Dean's body.  Not quite like Lisa, not quite like any woman Dean's ever had; where the discovery was exciting and nervous and thrilling.  With Sam, it's like a slow pulse of pleasure, of knowing everything about this person, and owning a piece of that someone no one will ever know. 

Next goes Sam's brown belt, scratching through the denim loops, and the buckle clinks as it hits the floor.  Dean stops trying to look away, starts to appreciate the slow reveal.  Sam turns, checking on the water as he shimmies out of his wet jeans.  He hops from foot to foot, caught in the denim, and sacrifices his socks to the damp cloth. There's nothing sexy about it, it's actually kind of funny, but Dean feels his face flush all the same.  Sam's wearing his favorite boxers, the ones he always wears on 'comfortable' days, and Dean doesn't know that about Lisa, if she even has a favorite pair of underwear.

Sam walks to him, carrying the teas, wearing nothing but his grey boxers and red shirt, and suddenly he's the most gorgeous thing Dean's ever seen.  It strikes him all over again that Sam is there, he's _alive_ , and he slips into a stupor.  It's that moment when he opened the door two weeks ago, and there was Sam.  Happiness, indescribable and so long unfelt, bubbles up within Dean's chest, and he's giddy with it.  He wants Sam, wants him in every way imaginable, and he wonders if he always felt this way or if this is something new, brought on by all that they've been through.  Dean knows, _he knows_ , that apart they're miserable, they become monsters, but together, they're everything.  Sam's everything Dean wants.

"You having some trouble with your jeans?" Sam asks, placing the cups down.  Dean's mouth is still dry, so he nods.

Sam nears, pushes up Dean's shirt like it's nothing, and thumbs his jeans open.  They've done this a million times, helped each other out when drunk or hurt or both.  But suddenly Sam stills and Dean realizes that he's half-hard in his pants.

Sam slowly looks up, their faces parallel, and Dean licks his lips, before he thinks, _What the hell_?

"So.  How do you feel about incest?"

Dean expects Sam to bolt.  He waits for Sam to jerk back and look at him aghast, like a freak.  But instead Sam looks like he's mulling the question over, considering it from all angles.  And doesn't that just figure, Sam taking some sort of scientific approach to the question.

"Not sure," he finally replies.  "I haven't tried it myself."

Dean breathes a small sigh of relief.  But now that he's broached the topic, he doesn't know where to go with it.  They sit for a few seconds, staring at each other.

"And you, Dean?" Sam asks.

"Same," Dean croaks out.

Sam nods very seriously, eyes flicking back to Dean’s crotch and slowly pulls Dean's zipper down.  Dean's hard as a rock within seconds and he grabs onto the table and chair.

"Guess we'll have to try it out to be sure," Sam whispers before he's kissing Dean, forcing his mouth open with his tongue, and Dean's grip transfers to Sam instead, pulling him closer.  Just like that, the past four months wash away underneath Sam until it's a distant ache and Dean's so full of _Finally_ and _Yes_ that he doesn't have room for anything else.  Sam leans over him, bending his head back, as he consumes him, and Dean's seen Sam kiss girls before, how controlling he is, and that doesn't change for him.  In fact, he seems even rougher, like he knows Dean won't break.  His head swims, grappling onto Sam's arms, and lets Sam push himself more inside Dean's being.

It tapers off a bit, the intensity, Sam relinquishing control to Dean, and so he softens it.  He takes long moments appreciating Sam's bottom lip, pauses to feel the slow rub of their tongues together, and marvels over how weird it isn't.  Like they've been scrambling to get to this place all their lives.

Sam breaks away with a hum, eyes still closed.  Dean breathes deeply, waiting for the regret or panic.  But when Sam slowly opens his eyes, he looks content and at peace.

"What's the verdict?" Dean asks, but he already knows by the curve of Sam's smile.

"Dunno," he says.  "Maybe I need to have another go at it.”

"Just to be sure."

"Yeah.  Just to be sure."

Sam hauls Dean to his feet, mouth possessing his again, and cold hands gripping Dean’s arms, before they run down his sides to slide under his jeans.  Sam is overwhelming and Dean tilts his head back for it, skin and head burning.  Sam shoves the wet fabric down, down, gripping and coaxing Dean’s exposed muscles with every graze.  When his jeans are at his knees, Sam pushes them down the rest of the way with his foot, and accidentally brushes Dean’s cock with his knee and fuck, fuck, it runs Dean straight through and he groans into his brother’s mouth.  They make their way to the couch and Sam pulls Dean on top of him, laying out.  Their bodies touch, rub against each other, and Dean thinks that maybe he died from alcohol poisoning, because this, this can't be real.

And then Dean's pretty sure that it's real, because Adam walks through the front door. 

"Are you guys fucking?" he asks and that's when Dean realizes that it's actually Hell.

 

:::

 

Things are seriously awkward after that.  Dean can’t even look at Sam without thinking about what they nearly did, the line they almost crossed.  Well, fuck, they did cross one line, but at least it can be looked at as an innocent drunken make-out session.  Dean can blame it on the booze.

Except the feelings haven’t subsided with the hangover.

Dean shakes his head, derailing that thought immediately. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Sam asks, lowering the paper in his hand.  

“Sure, you were saying something about blah-blah?” Dean says, hiding behind his huge cup of expensive café coffee.  Sam huffs and goes back to the newspaper, circling another potential job.

“I was _saying_ ,” Sam says sulkily, “that this job market absolutely sucks.  Do you know they want a degree now to write memos and organize files?  Like, fucking seriously, I have to go to college to know how to type?”

“You went to college.”

“And dropped out when a demon killed my girlfriend, Dean.”

An old lady gave them a strange look from the table next to them.  Dean smiles awkwardly.

Sam sighs and lowers the paper in defeat.  He raises his eyes to Dean, but Dean is quick to look out the window.  His brother sighs again.

“Are we gonna talk about it?”

“Nope,” Dean says firmly, sipping loudly because he knows it annoys Sam and maybe if he annoys him enough, Sam will realize forgetting the other night is the best idea ever.

“Dean--.”

“I said no, Sam.”

“That, like, has meant nothing to me since I was _five_ ,” Sam argues with dramatic hand waving.  “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you tell me no now when I’m finally going to get what I want?”

Dean blinks, finally looking over.  “Wait, what?”

Sam leans across the table, looking suddenly intense and serious.  “If you tell me that you didn’t like the other night, I won’t ever mention it again.”

Cheeks heating, Dean looks away and takes a large gulp of coffee that scorches his tongue so Sam will think his cheeks are red because of the heat and not because the thought of about making out with Sam again does all these strange things to his stomach.

“I’m going to make this really easy on you,” Sam says, low and dark, and Dean can’t stop himself from staring back at Sam’s knowing eyes. 

“I want this,” Sam says, “I don’t care how it happened, or why I’m this way, or what a freak that makes me.  You can blame it on Hell if that makes you feel better, Dean.  But I don’t feel shame or guilt or regret over that night.  All I want is you.”

Sam gets up and throws a couple of bucks on the table.  “I’ll see you at home.”

 

:::

When Sam gets all stewy, he likes to take long walks.  When Dean is trying to deal with something, he likes to take long drives.  When two hours go by and Dean still can’t get past that whole _Sam wants me_ , he figures he needs to go to his second stress relief, which is a very long and hot shower.  Unfortunately, Sam could be back at the apartment now and that makes Dean cruise around for another hour just to get the nerve to go back home and take his chance of running into Sam before he makes it to the bathroom.

Fortunately, Sam isn’t in the living room when Dean gets home and neither is Adam.  In fact, he can hear them in Adam’s bedroom and the door is closed, so Dean can sneak right on by.  He stops by the linen closet to grab a towel and is just about to slip into the bathroom when he hears Adam’s voice.

“So, he’s still freaking out?”

“Yeah,” Sam says moodily.  “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe you’re a shitty kisser.”

“Maybe I’m just fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Adam says easily. “But that’s obvious, isn’t it?  We all kind of are.  Hell does some freaky shit to your perspectives.”

“Like making incest okay?”

“Like take your chances and screw the consequences,” Adam says, “because there’s a good chance you’re going to be dead tomorrow.  Especially for Winchesters.”

Sam’s silent on the other end, which means he’s really thinking about what Adam’s said.  Dean moves closer, eager to hear Sam’s response, but the door swings open and there’s Sam.

“Dean?”

“Oh, hey,” Dean says, clutching the towel to his chest like a surprised virgin.  He shifts awkwardly under his brother’s stare, points at the bathroom, “I’m going to,” and escapes.

Underneath the spray, Dean viciously scrubs at his face.  Sam’s face and Adam’s words keep circling around in his head.  _Take a chance_.  Dean’s never been any good at taking a step back and analyzing himself.  He has no idea how to feel.  He usually just plows through what needs to be done and then suppresses anything left over. _You’ll never knew when you’ll be dead_. So, okay, Sam wants him.  And it’s no secret that Dean kind of sort of wants him back.

Dean thinks about Lisa and Ben, compares his feelings for them to Sam.  But that’s like comparing an atom to the fucking universe.  What he feels for Sam is too huge to define; it’s messed up and tangled in years of history and sacrifice and inside jokes and blood.  Lisa and Ben couldn’t compete with that, couldn’t bury it under their love and life of normalcy.  Years from now, Dean will look back on them as a time he was waiting for Sam to come back to him.  Just like when he looks back on Cassie and thinks he was trying to replace Sam. 

Dean sighs and tries drowning himself under the spray.

The truth of the matter is, Dean is an all-class screw up.  He’s taken two perfectly healthy relationships and burned them to the ground because he couldn’t get over Sam.  So what does that say about him?  That he’s always been obsessed with Sam, that he’ll always want to be with him?  Whether they are hunting, whether they are trying to live normal lives; as long as Sam is there….

But what if he screws it up?  Jesus fuck, what if he does something that makes Sam _leave_?  What if Dean can’t be that committed guy?  He’s never tried it, not for long.  Sam would never want an open relationship.  If he ever found out that Dean cheated…Sam would be gone.

And what does Dean have to offer anyway?  A buttload of daddy issues and drinking problems, that’s what.  Sam will get tired of it, eventually.  He always gets tired of Dean at some point and then he’s off with a nice fuck you.  Dean’s lost count of how many times Sam’s left him.  And what if that’s finally the end of it?  What if Dean finally pushes Sam to the edge and then he wants nothing more to do with him?  Dean can’t take that.  Not after everything.

Dean whips his head around when the shower curtain gets pulled back and there’s Sam.  Naked.  Christ, they’ve seen each other naked before, so it shouldn’t get Dean all worked up.  His eyes skirt down the bare chest, drinks in the flat abs, and moves back up before he can get a good look at Sam’s cock because, uh.  He finds that Sam doesn’t have that problem, looking him over in all entirety before stepping into the shower.

“Um,” Dean says, turning his back to the spray and hands up.  “Sam, look--”

“Shut up,” Sam says, brushing his hands aside.  He steps into Dean’s space and captures his lips in a bruising kiss.  It’s pathetic how easy Dean relents, hands flying up to grab Sam’s hair, and bringing him closer.  All of Dean’s worries and thoughts melt underneath Sam’s hot tongue, coaxed out of his skin by Sam’s hands, and flood down the drain.  Their naked bodies press together and Dean’s suddenly so hard, he’s dizzy with it, biting and sucking at Sam’s mouth.  His brother, just as enthusiastic, presses in until Dean’s back hits the wall.  Sam crowds him in and skirts his hands down, feeling Dean’s nipples, his ribs, his abs.  Until he reaches Dean’s thighs and then he’s hitching them up on his hip, spreading their legs, rubbing their cocks together and Dean gasps.  His toes curl, his fingers dig in, and he keeps thinking, _Fuck, fuck, fuck, I want this, I want this more than anything, how long, how fucking long?_ , but he can’t put a place or day or time to it, because he thinks it’s been always, always.

Sam grabs hold of their cocks, make sure they line up together, and Dean looks down, water streaming into his eyes.  Sam rubs his cock against Dean’s, making sure they stay together, and watching is too intense, too much.

“Watch,” Sam growls into his ear.  He bites Dean’s jaw, kisses it better.  “Fucking watch what I do to you.”

And so Dean does, panting, clawing for release until Sam falls to his knees.   Dean scrambles at the slippery walls, a half-formed ‘no’ on his lips because Sammy can’t, he shouldn’t—and then that dumb idea is gone, because Sammy is swallowing him down and he’s coming down his baby brother’s throat.

::

Dean completely understands the term ‘ridden hard and put away wet’ now.   Sam shoves their beds together and they lay down, throwing a sheet over their wet, naked bodies.  Sam is a fucking cuddler after sex, which Dean should’ve figured, but doesn't mind too much.  Dean hums as Sam runs his fingertips down his arm, feels his breath on his cheek as Sam nuzzles his wet hair with his nose.  Dean turns and opens his eyes, finds Sam watching him right back.  He grins slowly and then crosses the distance, kisses Dean gently on the lips.

“Now, was that so hard, Dean?” he asks.

“Shut up,” Dean answers, trying to push Sam away but his brother uses his weight, presses Dean down to the mattress.  He kisses Dean’s neck lightly, buries his face there as he murmurs, “Just please say yes.”

Dean sighs and reaches up to grasp Sam’s wet hair, running his fingers through it.  He stares at the ceiling and bites his lip; there’s no real denying that this is what he wants.

Just, hopefully, he’s enough for Sam.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean says, taking a chance.  He turns until they’re face to face.  “Yeah.”

:::

"Have a good day at work," Sam says, stopping Dean at the door.  He pecks Dean on the lips and when he pulls back, he's grinning.  Behind them, Adam makes a few gagging sounds.

"Okay, Stepford Wife," Dean replies, rolling his eyes.  "Where's my brother?"

Sam rolls his eyes in return.  "Okay, how about this: Go get me some money, bitch, I need cigarettes."

"That's better," Dean says.  "Hey, wait, bitch is my word."

"Whatever, jerk," and Sam kisses him once again, with a little bit of teeth this time, and then slams the door in Dean's face.  Dean walks to his truck with a grin, flipping his keys in the air.  He's so happy and concern-free that it takes him by surprise.  Is this what it feels like?  To not constantly worry about Sammy, or not fret over the future? 

It helps that Adam isn’t even fazed by the fact that his two brothers are now dating.  At first Dean was worried about that; it's still kind of fucked up that none of them are.

Dean concludes that Hell makes a person think incest is a pretty awesome idea and, all things considered, it's the probably most harmless thing a person could come out thinking.  It could have been that going on a murdering rampage and creating flesh puppets sounded like a great time.  Yeah, supposed they picked the lesser of all evils.

 

:::

 

Dean loves his job.  It's not something he wants to do for the rest of his life, he's got too much hunter in his blood.  He'll need to move on at some point, try something different, but at the moment, he likes that he helps create something with his bare hands.  Instead of saving lives, he constructs houses for low-income families.  He builds centers for communities, places that feed the homeless or help others find jobs.  His boss is a pretty caring guy, and he's always out there, trying to improve the lives of others.  Dean likes that.

Dean slams another nail home, the sun beating on the back of his neck.  The snow from the other night is already melting, making the site a mud bath.  Dean's phone vibrates in his back pocket for the fifth time today. 

"Lunch time!" someone shouts.  Dean takes a few more minutes to finish with the frame he's working on, giving it a good shake to check how sturdy it is, and then heads to his truck for the lunch he packed.  The site is already deserted as the rest of the men go to the bar and diner down the street. He digs in his back pocket to grab his phone but stops when he sees some guy leaning against his vehicle, smoking a cigarette.  He's dressed in a nice suit and mud stains the bottom of his pants.  He looks kind of familiar; maybe he's a friend of Lisa's he met once, and then the guy is turning around.

Dean stops dead, heart skipping to a stop. 

Brady grins around the cigarette, blue eyes flashing.

"Hey there, Dean."

Mother _fucker_.  Rage bubbles inside Dean like an inferno, sizzling the surprise away in a matter of seconds.  The last time Dean saw Brady, he was dribbling blood all over Sam's fingers and hellfire was lighting up his insides.  He _knows_ Sam killed him, wouldn't have left the bastard alive.  He's sure Sam would have killed him twice if he could.  Dean's fingers curl in his gloves.

"You're dead."

"Funny how dead doesn't mean much anymore," Brady says.  He crushes the cigarette under his flashy shoes.  "So, we gonna do this?"

"Putting you back in your grave?" Dean's grin is feral. "Yeah, I can do that."

Brady shakes his head, amused.  "Always the drama queen, Dean-o.  You really should be thanking me."

"What for?"

"Without me, Sam would happily be married to Jess and not fucking you." Dean's shocked breath is halted by a kick to the chest from some unseen force, sending Dean flying backwards.  He hits the ground and skids through the mud, panting for air.  Brady follows at a sedate pace, and Dean scrambles up, running into the construction site.  He needs a weapon, something to take out a fucking demon.  God, why did he think he wouldn't ever need a gun, a knife?

"Oh, don't run away!" Brady calls.

Dean ducks behind a cement wall, digging through the tools on his belt.  Hammer, screwdriver, nails, nothing to really slow him down.

"So who brought you back to life?" Dean asks and breaks across the distance of wooden pillars to the metal spikes across the yard.  Dean’s phone vibrates in his pocket again and he’s fucking thankful that its still on silent.

"I think you can take an educated guess on that one, Winchester."  Brady's somewhere behind him and Dean grabs one of the rebars, the twisted metal digging into his palms, and presses his back against one of the walls.  His brain flips through a couple of options; witches, other demons, angels...Any of them could have done this, but how is beyond Dean.

"And your first decision was to come after me?" Dean asks.  "That's really fucking stupid."

Silence for a long moment and Dean tries to be still as possible, listening.

"You do know why I'm here, don't you?" Just behind the wall!  Dean presses his head against concrete, holding his breath.

"Don't you, Dean?"  Dean hears his feet sink into the mud, walking away, and Dean takes the chance, running around the corner.  Brady's back is to him and Dean lifts the rebar, stabbing it into his unprotected back.  Brady falls into the mud and Dean slams the rebar home, past bone and flesh, into the mud.  Brady growls, scrambling and twisting, but the bar is long and Dean keeps pressing down until it's good and stuck in the ground.

"Fucking son of a bitch," Brady says, lifting himself up to his knees, but Dean kicks him in the face until he goes back down.

Dean gets out his phone, flipping it open, and realizes that all the missed calls were from Sam.  He calls his brother back.

"Dean!" Sam says after the first ring.  "Dean, listen, are you--"

"Sammy, I want you to bring Ruby's knife," Dean interrupts and Sam goes deadly silent on the other end.  "It's in the Impala's trunk."

"Dean."

"We have a demon problem."

Sam's silent for so long that Dean wonders if he dropped the phone.  He listens and he can hear Sam taking deep breaths.

"I'll be right there."

 

:::

 

Sam shows up fifteen minutes later.  Dean can hear the roar of the engine, the clicking as it cools, and then his brother comes out of the construction site.  Dean punches Brady again as he tries to get up, cursing.  Sam looks deathly pale, shocked, as he approaches Brady.

"Hey, baby," Brady says to Sam around a mouthful of blood, laughing at Sam's flinch. 

Sam offers the knife to Dean.

"You sure?" Dean asks, confused.  He looks between the two of them.

"You've gotta do it," Sam answers.  He composes himself within seconds, his face going carefully blank.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" Brady says.  He laughs hysterically, fingers carding through the mud. Dirt's dyed his hair brown and covers his face, mixing with the blood pouring from his cut lip and broken nose.  "Did you, Sam?"

"Tell me what?" Dean's stomach goes hard, cold.

"Get rid of him," Sam says, tearing his eyes away from Brady.  Dean doesn't move.  Sam swallows.  "Dean, please, and I'll explain afterwards."

Dean feels anger bubbling in his gut and he grits his teeth, turning around.  With one swing, he stabs Brady in the neck.  He expects the usual flickering of light as the demon combusts inside from the blade's sting, but instead his whole body explodes, winking out of existence, leaving nothing behind.  Dean stumbles back, surprised, looking for any evidence that Brady was even here.  Maybe he was some sort of spirit or just an illusion.  But he seemed so real...

Dean looks at Sam, but he isn't surprised at all.  In fact, he looks downright sick.

Dean points the knife at Sam. " _Explain_."

Sam nods, eyes falling.

"I tried to warn you, but you weren't picking up your phone," Sam says.  He pauses and then laughs, rubbing at his face.  "I got a text message, a text of all things, saying that, uh."

"Out with it, Sam!"

"If.  If we're going to be together," says Sam, "you're going to have to defeat my seven evil exes."

Dean blinks, not expecting that.  Not expecting that _at all_.  The knife falls to his side.

" _What_?"

"You're going to have to defeat my--"

"I _heard_ you!  I just don't _get it_."

"Well, you...pretty much do what you did to Brady to the other six exes."

"Sam!"

"I don't know, all right?!" Sam yells.  "I don't know why!"

Dean pinches his nose, taking a few deep breaths.  This is so fucked up.  They are supposed to be done with this, this is supposed be _over_.

"Look, Dean," Sam says, stops.  Dean glances over and it looks like Sam is chewing on his words, and he hates the taste of them.  "We don't.  _You_ don't have to do this.  We can just stop."  Sam looks crestfallen.  He stares at his shoes, trying to look brave, trying to do the right thing.  Dean is weak against that look, always has been.

" _Fuck_ ," Dean says and closes the distance, crushing their mouths together.

They break apart a few long moments later and Sam sighs, laying his head against Dean's temple.

"So, seven evil girlfriends, huh?"

"Exes," Sam murmurs.

"Eh.  I can do that."

Sam smiles into his ear, kissing it gently.

And then Dean suddenly realizes.

"Wait a minute, fucking Brady?"  He tries to pull back, but Sam won't let him.

"I was in college, Dean," Sam replies and Dean can hear his eye roll.  "And I also thought he was human."

" _Brady_ ," Dean says again.

"Shut up."

 

:::

 

“Brady?” Adam laughs.

“Shut up!” Sam sulks.  “It was _college_ , all right?”

“Isn't he that guy who…”

"Yes."

"And with the blonde...?

"Yes..."

"He sounded so..."

“Preppy,” Dean helps out.

“Yeah!”

“Enough, you losers.”  Sam grabs his coat and the keys to Dean’s truck.  “I’ve got a job interview.”

“Okay,” Adam says.  “We’ll continue to mock you behind your back.”

Sam huffs loudly.  “Have fun with that.”

As soon as Sam is gone, the doorbell rings.  Dean answers, and there’s Castiel.

“I used the door!” he says, beaming.

“Er, yeah,” Dean says and opens the door a little bit wider.  Castiel wanders in but his eyes won’t leave Dean.

"You seem much improved," Castiel says, and he looks undoubtedly happy about it.

"Yeah," Dean answers, grinning despite his worry over six evil exes trying to kill him.  Sam's alive, _with him_.  That's all that really matters.

“I thought we could go out for coffee,” the angel says.

“I guess,” Dean replies, scratching his head.  “I was actually going to scope out a few places to take Sam tonight.”

“Take Sam where?”

“To dinner.”

Adam looks up from his laptop with a slow grin. “As in a date?”

“A date?” Castiel repeats, eyes widening.

“Sam likes those kinds of things,” Dean says in way of explaining, grabbing his leather jacket.

“You’re taking your brother out on a date?” Castiel asks.

“No.  Yes.  Maybe.”

“But…you like women!”

“That’s the first thing that comes to your head when you hear I’m taking Sam out on a date?”

 “You said it wasn’t a date!”

“Whatever!” 

“Okay, let’s clear a few things up,” Adam interjects.  “Dean is dating Sam.  Dean likes cock now.  We’re all okay with incest.  Is that everything?”

Castiel stares at the ground, playing with the tail end of his tie.  Dean’s not sure, but he looks kind of crushed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says gently, “I…I get it if you think Sam and I…that you don’t approve.”

“I am not upset about that, Dean Winchester,” Castiel replies.  He takes a deep breath.  “I understand considering the circumstances.”  He looks up then, eyes firm with resolve.  “But I am not giving up either.”

“Er, what?” Dean says.

“Oh and also, Dean has to defeat Sam’s seven evil exes,” Adam pipes up.

“You wouldn’t have to do that for me, Dean,” Castiel says very seriously.

And then Dean suddenly gets it and there is a long pause as Dean tries to formulate a sentence.

“That’s…good,” he says.  “Well, I’m leaving now.”

“I’ll come with you,” Castiel offers.

“Oh-oh, that’s okay,” Dean says hastily.  “I’d rather do this on my own, thanks.”

“Come on, Cas,” Adam says.  “I’ll show you Robot Unicorn Attack.  You’ll love it.”

Dean practically throws himself out the door and gets into the Impala.  Well.  That was kind of weird.  But then Dean reflects on it and maybe it isn’t so odd after all.  The time spent together, the way Castiel defied all of Heaven for Dean (and, he thought once, for Sam).  Then the stronger hints, like Castiel visiting him and Lisa once and awhile and how he always seemed to discourage Dean from taking it further with her.  Maybe it was Castiel who reminded God about Sam and Adam.  Because of Dean.

Dean hits his head on the steering wheel a couple of times.  Shit, he sucks.  He just doesn’t return those feelings.  Dean’s never thought…but then, he never really thought of Sam that way either until it was just the right moment.  Maybe in a different life.  If Sam hadn’t come back.  But Sam is back and that’s all Dean wants now.  All he needs.

And maybe some advice on how to date your brother and take him to a nice restaurant.

...Shit. 

Dean turns the key and points the car towards Lisa's.

 

:::

 

“And how is Sam?” asks Lisa as she grates the cheese.  Dean takes over the pot of noodles and the pan of meat, stirring the two in equal measures.  He sprinkles in some salt and pepper, because Lisa always forgets to flavor the meat.

“He’s fine,” Dean answers.  “Trying to find a job.”

Lisa makes an understanding noise.  “Kind of hard, with the economy the way it is.”

“Yeah,” Dean says and coughs subtly.  Perhaps this is the perfect time to ask for her advice.

“So I was thinking,” Dean starts, “about taking him out to dinner.  You know.  As a ‘Glad you’re outta Hell’ thing.”

“That sounds nice,” she says easily.  “Where to?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits.  “I was thinking somewhere nice.  With real china and those cloth napkins.  You know a place?”

Lisa slows her methodical grating.  “I know a few.  What kind of food?”

“Sam likes good seafood,” Dean says, smiling a little.  “I was thinking steak for myself.  Maybe a little champagne.”

“Champagne?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, heart speeding up at Lisa’s incisive look.  “Sammy’s a pansy like that.”

“Dean,” Lisa says softly, grabbing the plate of grated cheese.  “Are you taking Sam out on a date?”

Dean’s immediate ‘NO!’ trips on his tongue, his heart lurching up his throat and face flushing scarlet with shame.  Lisa’s face goes all knowing, eyes widening a little bit, and there’s no way to come back from this.  Dean waits for her to start yelling to get his freaky ass out and to never see her or Ben again.

“I _knew_ it,” Lisa says smugly instead.

Dean blinks, frantic.  “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Dean,” Lisa says affectionately and walks past him, lining up the ingredients for her pasta dish. 

“Why aren’t you yelling and hitting me right now?” Dean asks bewildered.

“I thought there was more going on between you and Sam for awhile now,” she says.  “I mean, I love my sister.  If she died, I would be heartbroken, for sure.  My world wouldn’t stop though.”

“So…you’re okay with me dating my brother?”

“Well,” she says haltingly, pouring the pasta in a large dish and covering it in sour cream.  “It’s a little weird.  But you do defy normal conventions on a daily basis.”

Dean sits down heavily in the bar stool.  “So everyone in the world is okay with incest?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Dean stares uncomprehending at Lisa’s back, as she hums and pours the meat soaked in Prego over the pasta.

“Really, Lisa?”

She looks over her shoulder and takes him in.   She smiles gently.

“Really, Dean.  I’m glad you’re happy.”

In another world, a world with no Sammy, Dean knows he would have fallen madly in love with her.

“So, about this restaurant,” she starts and Dean swoops in, grabs her gently by the neck, and kisses her soundly on the lips.

“Thanks,” he says.

 

:::

 

“Where are you taking me?” Sam asks later that night. 

They parked a bit away from the restaurant and the streets are empty, so Dean takes Sam’s gloved hand.  The heat wave from the last few days seems to have dissipated and a cold front is moving in again.  It’s a full moon tonight, peeking around the clouds, and casting the city in a silvery glow.  Sam looks handsome, relaxed, and clean-shaven.  He squeezes Dean’s hand back with a smile.

“Thought we’d have dinner,” Dean says.

Sam looks around. “Are we in the right place?  Where’re the bars?”

“A _nice_ dinner,” Dean amends.

Sam pauses and looks down at Dean with a teasing grin.  “Are you taking me out on a date?”

“I’m trying to get a home run,” Dean explains. 

“Hm, you’re moving in the right direction then,” Sam says.  He leans in and whispers in Dean’s ear.  “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean gives a long suffering sigh.  “You big slut.”

“Manwhore,” Sam replies and Dean shoves him into the restaurant, grinning.

Lisa’s recommendation, The Lamplighter, is perfect.  Sam orders lobster, and Dean gets the biggest steak on the menu.  White linen covers all the tables, their glasses are clear crystal, and the dinnerware is real silver, glistening under the low lights.  Their waiter is this gorgeous brunette with excellent taste in wines, and she always swoops in right when Dean or Sam needs a refill.  The conversation around them is muted, somehow, or maybe it’s because Dean can’t pay attention to anything beyond Sam.

Sam makes a delicate moan around a piece of buttery fish and Dean dies a little inside.  Maybe taking Sam to a seedy bar would have been better.  Nobody thinks twice about the customers fucking in the bathroom.

“Can we do this every weekend?” Sam asks, wiping his mouth.

“I’ll have to get back into credit card fraud,” Dean says.

“I’m so okay with that,” says Sam and they smile at each other.  Dean thinks about how, when they get home, Dean’s going to peel Sam’s clothes off with his teeth, lick his dimples, taste his fingers. 

Then Sam’s smile completely fades, and he straightens in his seat, looking over Dean’s shoulder.  Dean instantly goes to the gun in his jacket, turning around, and loses his breath.

Madison stands behind them, wearing a red velvet dress.  She smiles uncertainly and then pulls out the unused chair to their table, sitting down.  She’s stunning in the way Dean never got to see her; hair pulled back in curls, makeup fresh, diamonds in her ears.

“I’m sorry to crash your night,” she says in greeting.

“Madison,” Sam breathes.

“Hi, Sam,” she says.  She gives a watery smile and then reaches across the table for his hand.  He grasps it immediately, squeezing.

“How are you--?” Realization dawns on Sam’s face.  “Oh, no.  No.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again.  “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re one of the exes,” Dean says grimly.

Madison smiles sadly.  “’fraid so.  I only have so much time--”

“Madison, I’m so sorry,” Sam says in a rush.  “I never, I should have tried harder, we--.”

“Sam,” she says.  “Sam, I asked you to, remember?”

“I should have said no.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

A flash of pain crosses her features and her grip on Sam tightens momentarily.

“Listen,” Madison says, turning to Dean, “we have to fight.”

“I know.”

“We’re part of a league, sworn to control Sam.  He can never be happy until he’s back, you understand?  The others…you need to be careful.”

“Back?” Dean says, leaning forward.  “Back where?”

But Madison turns her head away, gritting her teeth.  She breaks away from Sam’s hold and scrambles at the table, breathing harshly.  Her nails extend, ripping into the cloth, and Sam’s silverware sizzles underneath her palm.  She snaps her hand back with a growl and gets up, leaving the restaurant quickly.

Dean gets up to follow her but Sam stops him, grabbing his jacket.

“Dean, don’t,” Sam pleads.  “This is a second chance.  We can still find a cure for her.”

“She’s going to change, Sam,” Dean says.  “She’s going to kill someone tonight because that’s what werewolves _do_.”

“Maybe she won’t!”

“I have to do this, Sammy,” Dean says and breaks out of his hold.  He grabs the knife from the table and hurries out the door, looking up and down the empty street.  He hurries down the sidewalk, Sam on his heels.  The sky is particularly cloudless, stars appearing despite the glare of the streetlights, and the moon bright.  A low wind kicks up as they move, nudges the bare branches, and sends garbage kicking down the walk.

“Maybe she’s gone,” Sam says brightly.

A low growl to their left and Dean glares at Sam.  He looks back sheepishly.

“Let me try to reason with her,” Sam suggests.  He ignores Dean’s protest and moves to the darken alleyway.  He glances in, bending his knees.  “Madison?”

Madison slowly steps out into the light.  It’s been years since Dean’s hunted a werewolf in full form, but she is exactly how Sam described her.  She bares her sharp teeth at Dean and her eyes are golden, canine-like.  No one would know that she isn’t human until it’s too late. 

“My, what big teeth you have,” Dean says drily.

“Dean,” Sam says, glaring at him.  He turns back to Madison and, palms up, tries to pacify her.  Her gaze turns to him and her nostrils flex, breathing him in.  She steps closer, into Sam’s reach.  Dean tenses, ready to strike the instant she opens her mouth.

But she doesn’t.  Instead, she tilts her head down and brushes it against Sam’s outstretched fingers.

“There we go,” he says happily.  “Such a good girl, aren’t you?  Yes, you are!”

“Huh,” Dean says and relaxes a bit.  He twists the knife in his fingers.  “How are you doing that?”

“Maybe she thinks I’m pack,” Sam says, scratching behind her ears and continuing to coo like an idiot.

“What do we do then?” Dean asks and comes closer.  Bad mistake.  Suddenly Madison is in front of Sam, snarling at Dean.

“No, Madison! Bad!” Sam yells, trying to hold her back.  “Sit!  Stay!”

“Uh,” Dean says, backing up, “I don’t think that’s working, dude.”

Madison breaks from Sam’s hold and lunges at Dean.  The hunter turns tail and books it down the street.  He can hear the werewolf panting behind him, and Dean weaves between some parked cars, trying to slow her down.  All the while, Sam’s yelling behind them, telling Dean to ‘run faster!’ and ‘Madison, bad girl!’ like a deranged pet owner.  Sadly, Sam’s just going to have to wake up and realize he can’t keep a fucking _werewolf_.

“This sucks!” Dean yells, slipping on the icy stairs that lead up to the overseeing private park.  He took Ben and Lisa here once, had a picnic underneath the big trees.  There’s sort of a man-made forest here, nothing too thick, but he might be able to--.

He feels Madison scrape her nails against his jacket and Dean yelps, taking the stairs three at a time.

“I’ll think of something!” Sam yells.  “Just…keep running!”

“I have an idea!” Dean says, breaking for the trees up ahead.  “How about I fucking _kill her_?”

He loses Madison in the trees, weaving through them like a pro.  The difference between him and good ol’ Madi is that he’s been running for his life through forests and cities on a pretty regular basis.  She’s a newborn wolf, still getting used to all her heightened senses.  Dean can hear her crashing through the trees, panting and snarling, and he slips by, changing the knife from one sweaty palm to the other.  He starts trailing her now, moving quietly, and he can hear Sam somewhere far away, yelling for them both.

Up ahead, he can see her sniffing the ground.  Dean approaches cautiously, knife poised to strike, and a branch snaps somewhere behind him.  Suddenly, Madison turns and she’s charging, leaping.  Dean rolls with her, sinking the blade into her again and again.  She howls, he can hear the skin sizzle, and Sam’s yelling, and then Dean manages to escape her sharp nails for one instant and stab her in the heart.  She immediately stills, hands falling limply to the ground.  And like Brady, she simply disappears underneath Dean, and the knife’s clean.

“Dean!” Sam yells through the adrenaline fog.  “Goddamnit!  She wasn’t evil, Dean!”

Dean rolls to his knees, lungs burning.  “ _She was trying to eat me_!”

“She couldn’t help it,” says Sam, the run and anger making his face splotchy.  Grief flickers across his face.  Dean stands up, huffing, and glares at his brother. 

“So, what, you’d rather have her than me?” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes widen.  “Dean, what--.”

“Because that’s what it really comes down to, doesn’t it?”  Dean says, tossing the knife the ground.  “Which one you’re going to choose in the end over me.”

“ _Dean_ \--.”

“Whatever,” Dean says and storms off, thinking dating his little brother was a stupid, _stupid_ idea.

 

:::

 

Dean and Sam don’t talk for days.  Dean moves to the couch the first evening and initially it’s fine, he wants the space, but then it isn’t anymore.  He misses Sam breathing next to him.  For months, Dean’s dealt with thinking he was _never_ going to hear Sam breathe again.  Getting it back was like hearing his mother’s voice sing him to sleep once more.  But now that he’s outlawed himself from the bedroom, Dean’s unsure how to get himself back in.

Sam’s gone to the coffee shop before Dean gets home from work, like he usually does, looking through the job ads in the newspaper.  Adam and Castiel are sitting on the couch, sharing the laptop, and as soon as Dean walks through the door, Castiel perks up.  Dean waves awkwardly as he takes off his jacket and hangs it on the rack.  Adam nods before he goes back to whatever show he’s watching, and Dean goes to the refrigerator.

“How was your employment, Dean?” Castiel asks.

“Fine,” he answers, searching the contents, and discovering Sam’s not in there.  He sighs and slams the door shut.

“Are you ready to talk about your feelings, Dean?” Adam asks, fist against his temple, and glances up.

“Shut up,” he says, opening the fridge again, and grabbing a beer.

“Dean does not like to talk about his feelings,” Castiel says, looking at Adam.  “He usually just likes to hit things until he feels better.”

“Should we go find him someone to beat up then?” Adam asks.  Castiel nods, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Criss Angel?”

“Kanye West?”

“How about Glenn Beck?”

“Jon and Kate?”

“But not their Plus 8,” Castiel says seriously.

“Nah, they get enough abuse.”

“I miss Sam, all right?” Dean says, irritated.

“There we go,” Adam says, “let it all out, Dean.”

Dean ignores him. “I miss his stupid face and his stupid hair and what’s really stupid is that he blames _me_ for his ex-girlfriend trying to eat me!”

“You don’t say?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Dean asks wildly.  “Let the chick eat an arm?  I didn’t make up the stupid rules on How To Date Your Little Brother, did I?  No!”

“You said it,” Adam says, clicking on his computer.

“Why do I have to do this, anyway?” Dean says.  “Why is this so hard?  Why does all the weird shit keeping happening to us?  Is it in the fine print somewhere that, ‘If you get out of Hell, prepare your significant other to defeat his evil exes?’  Does it?  Does it, Castiel?”

“I don’t think so,” Castiel says slowly.

“Right!” Dean shouts, getting really worked up now.  “That’s right, because our lives are fucked up!  Of course Sam would get cursed like this!  I bet God’s having a real chuckle over this one, isn’t he?  Isn’t he?”

“He’s actually trying to stop the floods right now,” Castiel says.

“A real laugh, I know,” Dean says.  “Fucking asshole.  Got nothing better to do than laugh at the mere mortals.”

“And working diligently on impregnating a virgin,” Castiel continues.

“Haven’t I fought for him enough?  Isn’t this supposed to be our happy ending?” Dean yells, glaring at the ceiling.

And then suddenly, Dean’s out of steam, and he slumps into the kitchen chair, breathing heavily.  The three of them sit in silence, beside Adam clicking at the keyboard.

“Are you done now?” Adam asks at last.

“I thought you wanted me to ‘let it all out’,” Dean says shakily, gulping down his beer.

“Yeah, well,” Adam replies, “I stopped listening after you said something about somebody’s hair.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t date the guy who has twenty evil exes,” Castiel suggests.

“Seven,” Dean says morosely.

“Eh, that’s not too bad,” Adam says and hands the laptop over to Castiel.  He gets up and grabs the beer out of Dean’s hand, taking a swig.

“All right, Dean, you’re going to listen to me,” he says seriously.  He points a very serious finger in Dean’s face.  “It’s time for you to bring out the big guns.”

“Huh?”

“The ‘L’ word.”

Dean blinks, thinking.  “…Lesbian?”

“The other ‘L’ word.”

Dean blinks, thinking harder.  “…Lesbians?”

“Love, you idiot,” Adams says.  “Tell Sam that you had to kill Madison because you love him.  Not because he’s your brother, not because you have to protect him from evil werewolves, but because you _want to be with him_.”

“Isn’t it obvious that I want to be with him?  I mean, dude, you hear us every night.”

Adam waves his hands wildly, spilling beer everywhere, face scrunched up in pain.  “Yes, thank you for that.  But don’t you think Sam needs a little reassurance after Madison?”

“Or,” Castiel says, “you can start dating other people and make him jealous.”  Castiel smiles slowly, eyelashes giving a little flutter.  “I can date you, Dean.”

Dean looks between the two of them and then grabs his beer back, finishing it off.  “Right, then.”

 

:::

 

Sam’s in the back of the coffee shop, taking up a booth with an old laptop that looks ancient compared to all the new Macs everyone’s on.  Dean hovers awkwardly at the door, stomping his snow covered shoes.  Sam looks like he’s in the middle of a case, pen in one hand with ink stains covering his fingers.  Papers are spread across the table and he holds a cup of coffee protectively in one hand while skimming through something on the screen.  There’s a worried line between his eyes and he looks kind of stressed.  Maybe the job market is worse than Dean thought.  Maybe Sam’s looking up the repercussions of incest.  Maybe Dean should leave.

He’s about to turn around, but Sam spots him.  They share an awkward stare, waiting for the other one to move.  Dean finally breaks, walking jerkily to the booth, and Sam scrambles up his paperwork, shoving it into his bag.

“Hey,” Dean says gruffly.

“Hey,” Sam says back.  A beat and then he offers the seat across from him and Dean sits down.

“Adam and Cas said you’d be here…” Dean starts, rubbing his hands together.  Sam nods, eyebrow rising in the way that says _uh, yeah, you know that_.

“How’s the, uh, job hunt going?” Dean tries and Sam flickers his eyes away, nervously picking at the napkin on the table.  Dean’s eyes narrow; he’s gotten pretty good at telling when Sam is hiding something.

“What is it?”

“I’ve been researching our current…case,” Sam says haltingly.  Dean winces at the word ‘case’, hates the idea of their relationship being described so scientifically.

“What’d you find?”

“Nothing yet,” Sam says, still staring at his destroyed napkin.  “I have some ideas but no solid leads yet.”

“What kinds of ideas?” Dean presses.  Sam sighs impatiently, abandoning the napkin, and finally meets Dean’s eyes.

“Did you seriously come here to talk about this?” Sam asks.  It’s Dean’s turn to look away.

“No,” he says.  “I mean…”  Dean sighs, placing his palms flat down on the table.  “Fine.  Let’s talk.”

“Okay,” Sam says.  They wait for the other to start speaking.

“Come on,” Dean says.  “You’re the one with all the…”

Sam’s eyebrows start saying _You’d better be careful where you’re going with that_ and Dean stammers.

“You’re the one who always wants to talk,” he finally says.

Sam makes a noncommittal noise and takes a sip of his coffee.  Motherfucker is giving Dean his poker face, carefully cool and collected, and it’s driving him crazy.

“I wanted to tell you that I…” Dean breaks off, swallowing, and rocks uncomfortably in his seat.  He rubs his hands together and looks out the window, trying to gather the nerve to actually _talk to Sam_.  Jesus, hunting witches is easier than telling his brother about his _feelings_.  Maybe…Maybe he can can get Sam to talk about _his_ feelings and then Dean can just make agreeing grunting noises and then they can go back to the house and fuck.  “I guess I wanted to know where we stand.”

“Where do you want us to be, Dean?” Sam asks and goddamn that fucking gigantic brain, he can always see right through Dean.

“Look, don’t use that passive aggressive tactic on me,” Dean says, irritated that Sam is pushing him into this corner, that he fucking has to say anything at all about his feelings when fighting all of his brother’s past mistakes should be enough.

“I’m just trying to figure out if you still want this,” Sam says calmly.  He looks down at his coffee, runs his nails down the cardboard.  “If you still want me, that is.”

“Jesus,” Dean curses quietly and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “How can you say that to me?”

“It’s too much, I get it,” Sam says. “And I can’t say that I’m not happy about Madison--.”

“What the hell did you want me to do?” Dean whispers furiously.  “She was going to kill me!”

“I know, I get that,” Sam says hastily.  “I just wish--.”

“That you could be with her?”

“No!” Sam’s eyes flash, frustrated. “Would you just let me--.”

“Because there’s nothing good about werewolves, Sam.  There isn’t any humanity inside them when they change.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam says stubbornly.  “Not for sure.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Then what does that say about me?”

Dean huffs, leaning back hard onto the booth.  “God, that’s not even a good comparison.”

“No, it is,” Sam persists, pushing himself across the table.  “I’ve got demon blood in me, Dean, and that’s never going away.  I will always have this darkness and hate and anger inside me--.”

“You are _nothing_ like them.”

“I think you’re wrong.  And I think you know that.”

Dean’s mouth gapes open.  “What?”

“All the choices I’ve made in my life, I’ve always made the wrong one,” Sam says, turning away, eyes dancing across the table like he can see every one of them laid out before him.  “I’ve always chosen the selfish, sick thing every time and now…now I’m afraid I’m doing the same thing again.”

“No,” Dean breathes and reaches across the table, tries to take his brother’s hand, but he moves it out of Dean’s reach.

“That’s why you don’t even trust me,” Sam says. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth, I’ve never said that,” Dean says quietly, leaning across the table so he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

“You don’t have to,” Sam says.  “We both know it.  You’ll always wait for me to leave and I’ll always wonder if you did this challenge simply because you want me to stay.”

“Stop,” Dean says angrily.  “I never said I wanted out.”

Sam ignores him.  “I don’t know how I can convince you that I’ll always stay whether you’re my brother or my lover.”

Dean flushes, glancing quickly around them, but no one is paying them any attention. 

“You’ve done everything for me, even sold your soul, and that should be enough.  That is enough, Dean.  You don’t have to do any more to keep me.

“But I want this,” Sam says gently and Dean stills, “and I could never have said that before. I could never have admitted it to you or to myself, _ever_ , Dean, if not for Hell.  It’s burnt me out.  I don’t care how it happened, why I’m this way, or what a freak that makes me.” Sam looks up, eyes boring into Dean’s.  “I don’t feel shame or guilt or regret.  All I feel is you and I don’t want to feel anything else.”  Sam reaches across the table finally, and takes Dean’s frozen hand, leaning in so close that they could kiss right here in the open.  “You’ve never been the wrong choice and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to realize that.  I just need to know why you’re doing this.”

Dean swallows and looks away first, leaning back.  He opens his mouth to reciprocate, but they keep getting stuck in his throat.  He feels ashamed by how much he wants Sam, how much he needs him.  He can’t even live a life without his brother.  All of this is so obvious to Dean, and it would be just ten times worse by saying all of that out loud.  Why can’t his actions be enough?  Why does he have to say anything at all?

Dean looks up and Sam is staring back at him and God, he knows that look. Sam is hoping, he’s waiting for Dean to say he feels the same.  But the words are tangling together in his mouth and drying up before they can taste air.  He stares at Sam and Sam stares back and slowly, slowly, Sam’s hand loosens.

“Dean?” Sam says, voice small.  “Why are you doing this?”

Dean tries, god, he tries, but all he can choke out is a panicked wheeze, and Sam takes his hand back.  He’s fucking up, he’s fucking this all up, but Dean can’t, he _can’t._

“Sam,” Dean finally manages weakly.

“Forget it,” Sam says gruffly and gets up, taking his empty cup with him. “Forget I asked.” Jesus, _Jesus_ , Dean is such a fuck up and now, now Sam will leave because that’s what Sam does when Dean can’t give him what he wants.  He couldn’t give him the perfect family life, he couldn’t protect him from the hunting life, and he can’t even say _I’m doing this because I want you, you, all of you_ , not even once. 

Sam pays for another coffee and as soon as the cash is in the drawer, the perky waitress exclaims, “Congratulations!  You’ve won four tickets to tonight’s show at _The Chaos Theater_!”

“Er, thanks,” Sam says awkwardly.  He takes the tickets and his drink and wanders back to Dean.  He throws them on top of his laptop and sits down.

Dean’s still trying to find the words when Sam looks up, eyes red, and asks, “You wanna go?”

 

:::

 

Sam gives the other two tickets to Adam and Castiel.  The angel immediately looks down at his outfit, glances at Dean, and promptly disappears.

“What’s that about?” Sam asks.

“Oh,” Adam waves a hand, staring hard at the ticket, “Cas has a little crush on Dean here.  He’s off to make himself look fabulous.”

Sam’s eyes narrow.  “That so?”  He turns the stare at Dean.  Dean refuses to meet his eyes.  Sam shakes his head slowly and turns away.  Dean watches as he walks to the bedroom, both hands coursing through his hair, then down his face.  He doesn’t know what Sam’s thinking, but his ticks are obvious.  He’s visibly upset, on his breaking point, and Sam shuts the door behind him, the lock audible as it turns.

“So?” Adam says, glancing from Dean to the door.  “How’d it go?”

“Bad,” Dean says.  Adam sighs, eyes rolling to heaven.

“You two are terrible.  What the fuck did you do?”

“I couldn’t…say it,” Dean says haltingly.

“The ‘L’ word?”  Adam asks.  He shakes his head. “It’s not that difficult, Dean.”

“He should know already,” Dean says defensively.  “He’s gotta know it.”

“Of course he does,” Adam says.  “But it’s different when you hear it.  People need to hear it, Dean.”

“If I say it…” Dean says quietly.  “It…it doesn’t mean he’s going to stay.”

“Dean,” Adam says.  “Who says he’s going to go?”

 

:::

 

Adam tries to play peace maker between the two elder brothers as they walk to the club, but Sam is mentally withdrawn.  Dean tries to pretend nothing is wrong, that everything is normal, because he’s got years of practice with it.  But even he can’t keep up the witty repertoire because he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.  The theater or club is large; not somewhere Dean would usually choose to go.  They have to wait in line to give their tickets to the bouncer, and Sam hops on the balls of his feet to keep warm.  Dean wonders if he should offer to keep him warm, but he’s sure Sam will just brush him off anyways.

 “Hey, good looking,” Adam whistles, and Dean snaps out of his thoughts as Castiel walks across the street toward them.  He’s ditched the trench coat somewhere for a similar but shorter black jacket.  Underneath is a dark navy shirt with a black tie.  Dean smiles a little as Castiel smoothes it down, stepping onto the sidewalk.

“Good evening,” Castiel says solemnly, looking at Dean.

“My, don’t you look handsome,” Adam says, picking at the new jacket.  “Did you steal this from some Armani model?”

“No,” Castiel’s brow furrows, “I bought it from a store.”

“With what money?” Sam asks.

“A bank’s.”

Dean laughs a little under his breath.  “You look good, Cas.” 

The angel smiles at the compliment, and Dean tries really, really hard to ignore the glare Sam’s leveling at the back of his head.

“Tickets,” the bouncer grumbles and then ushers them inside.  Inside is all silver and modern and the bar is made out of blue glass.  The stage is actually in the center of the room, on a high riser.  The band’s already setting up and the group heads to the bar to grab a few drinks.

“It looks like there’re some tables on the second floor,” Sam says, pointing above.  “I’m going to grab us one.”

“What do you want?” Dean asks.  Sam gives a little shrug.  He pauses before leaving, eyeing Dean thoughtfully, before he leans down, and kisses him.  It’s hard, the kind that Dean will feel long after, and he knows that this is some way of Sam punishing him for earlier, or testing him.  He knows how much Dean hates PDA and he’s going to push Dean, make him balk first.  A sickening, guilty thrill runs through him, feels like every eye is on them, but Dean doesn’t pull away.  He kisses back just as hard, wants Sam to feel him on his lips for hours after.  Dean waits until Sam’s out of sight before he touches his mouth, heart pounding.  He’s simultaneously turned on and scared as shit at the same time.

“You okay?” Adam asks, and for the first time, he looks serious and old. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, waving the bartender over.

They find Sam up by the rails on the second floor.  Dean takes the seat across from him and if Sam’s disappointed, he doesn’t look to find out.  He concentrates on his beer instead, and the people around them, the bar slowly filling up.  Castiel sits down beside him and Adam and Sam talk quietly to each other.

“So,” Dean says, feeling Castiel’s stare on him, “how’s Heaven?”

“It is magnificent and full of serenity,” answers Castiel.  “Perhaps I can show it to you sometime.” He makes an exaggerated wiggle with his eyebrows, and Dean laughs unexpectedly.

“Dude, are you hitting on me?”

“I am flirting with you,” Castiel corrects.

“Man, I appreciate the gesture but I’m--” Dean starts.

“Excuse me?” Sam pipes in.

“You two have been fighting a lot,” Castiel says.  “I am merely showing Dean all his options.”

Sam’s face goes a little red and he tightens his grip on his beer.  “Dean and I have not been--”

“Dude, I got this,” Dean says at the same time Adam says, “Castiel, you aren’t supposed to flirt with your conquest _in front_ of his boyfriend.”

Sam turns wide eyes to Adam.  “The fuck?”

Adam shrugs, nonplussed.  “He wanted advice on how to pick up Dean.  How was I supposed to tell an angel no?”

“By saying ‘no’!” Sam yells.

“Oh, is that how you do it?” Adam says sarcastically.

“ _Hey_ ,” Dean says, trying to break in, but then suddenly Sam is whirling on him.

“You haven’t been encouraging him, have you?” demands Sam.

“What?  No!” Dean sits back, angry.

“Are you sure?” presses Sam.  “Sometimes you can’t help it.”

“Like how you can’t help being attracted to evil pieces of shits?” Dean snaps back and Sam sits back like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Whoa, okay,” Adam says loudly.  “New topic:  How about that Apocalypse, huh?  Crazy stuff!”

“No, I like our current subject,” Castiel says, eyes on Sam.  “Dean makes a valid point.  Sam is inadvertently attracted to those of a demonic or malevolent quality.  He should really look into that.”

“I’ll look into it once you stop hitting on my brother, who is currently dating _me_.”

Sam and Castiel both glare at each other and Dean really starts to feel like he’s caught between two boys warring over who gets to play with the action figure.

“Look,” Dean tries to interject but Sam and Castiel officially start yelling at each other at the same time as the lights dim, the crowd begins screaming, and their voices get drowned out.  The baseline is thumping so loud that Dean can feel it in his chest, and Dean gets bored watching them have at it, so he turns to watch.

The band is good, in the kind of new-agey, indie way that Sam likes so much.  What they really have going for them are the twins—one girl playing bass and the other on guitar.  They rock and gyrate to the music in almost perfect sync, their little black dresses barely covering their asses, and red leather boots wrapping up their shapely legs.  They’re both blonde and something about them is familiar.  Maybe Ben mentioned them once.

They play a few songs to the screaming crowd, by which time Sam and Castiel finally lose steam and are busy pouting in their respective corners.  The male singer takes a step away from the mike, grabbing a drink of water.  One of the girls takes his place, long red nails grabbing the mike, and says, “This next one is for Sam Winchester.”

Everyone at the table immediately turns to Sam.

“I,” Sam says, eyes wide, “I don’t even know--”

The girl looks up, right at their table, and smiles slowly.  She unclips the guitar from her neck and lets it fall carelessly to the floor; its chords screech through the speakers.  She puts out her hand.

Sam grabs Adam and Castiel is grabbing Dean and they duck under the table. Sam screams, “Close your eyes!” but before Dean does, he watches the world get consumed by a bright white light.  He can hear the world scream behind his squeezed eyelids.

When he opens them again, it’s deathly quiet in the bar.  Dean straightens up from underneath the table, shaky, looking around at all the abandoned drinks.  The air is cold and silent.  Castiel, Adam, and Sam follow and they all turn to the stage, where the two twins stand and wait.

One of the girls’ eyes is completely white.  The other’s eyes are black.

“Demons?” Dean says.

“Lilith,” Sam says, “and Ruby.”

“Got it in the first try, Sammy,” Ruby says, smirking.

“Oh, come on,” Dean grumbles. “Who says you guys can get new bodies?”

“You like?” Ruby says, giving a little twirl.  “Personally, I always liked being blonde better.”

“Why don’t you boys come join us?” Lilith calls.  “We’re getting so lonely down here.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you zapped a hundred people,” Dean snaps, but they walk down the stairs regardless. 

“Do you have the knife?” Sam whispers to Dean urgently as they descend.

“I don’t fucking carry it around with me, Sam.”

“I have mine,” Castiel says.

“Give it to me,” Dean orders and the angel slides it into Dean’s hand.

“Always knew you had a hard-on for your brother, Sam,” Ruby says and Dean tries hard not to flush.  Ruby steps off the stage and offers a hand down to Lilith. 

“Tell me.  Did you always imagine you were fucking him when you were fucking me?”

Dean gives up, feeling the blood rush to his face, and he glances at Sam’s furious expression.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” says Sam, grin almost feral.

“That isn’t jealousy, baby,” Ruby says, hitching up her dress, and exposing the creamy flesh of her inner thigh.  “In fact, it gets me all wet thinking about you two.”

“Fuck off,” Sam says venomously.

“I thought you two hated each other,” Dean says, crossing his arms, unable to hear anymore.

“We do,” Lilith replies, wrapping an arm around her twin’s shoulder and curling a shimmery lock of Ruby’s hair, “but we decided to put our differences aside and work together.  Considering you two killed us and all.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean says, glancing between Lilith and Sam.  “You.  When did you sleep with Lilith, Sam?!”

Sam turns, surprised.  “I never slept with her!”

“Actually, he slept with me in one of Chuck’s visions,” Lilith explains.  She winks at Sam.  “So we’re intimately involved.”

Three demons.  Sam’s _slept_ with three fucking demons and he has the balls to get upset about Dean _maybe_ flirting with Castiel?  What the fuck?

“Demon slut,” Dean hisses to Sam.  His brother’s eyes narrow, jaw clenching.

“Well, at least I’m not just a slut _in general_ ,” Sam hisses back.  “At least I’ve got _standards_.”

“Yeah! Evil motherfucker standards!”

Sam’s mouth falls open.  “Well, I _never_.”

“Three demons, Sam!”

“ _Two_! Lilith doesn’t count!”

“She would have if I hadn’t been around to save your ass!”

Ruby yawns loudly.  Lilith drums her red nails impatiently on the stage.  Adam sighs and wanders off to one of the tables.  Castiel shifts awkwardly.

 “You--!” Sam starts on a yell, but Lilith interrupts with, “Look, can we kill you first and then you guys can talk about your incest?" 

And then Sam is flying through the air, crashing into tables, and hitting the glass bar.  It cracks upon impact and Sam slumps, stops moving.  Dean's heart stutters, slipping up into his throat.  Castiel’s knife slides into his hand from its hiding place.

"Come on, bitch," Dean snarls and she laughs.

"You honestly think I'm going to get close enough for you to use that blade on me, Winchester?" she says and with a flick of her wrist, he slams into the nearby wall.  Dean grunts, feels the pressure increase on his chest, and yells, "Cas, get Adam out of here!"

Castiel moves to obey, but Adam waves him off.  He's taken station at one of the tables, drinking one of the many abandoned drinks.

"I don't know if you noticed, but there's a lot of free alcohol here," Adam says.

Castiel hesitates.

"We can drink it and cheerlead Dean," Adam continues.

Castiel's brow furrows.

"And I bet he'll get bloody and lose his shirt," Adam says.

Castiel sits down and grabs a drink for himself.

"Go Dean!" Adam shouts into his beer bottle.

Dean grunts in reply, mentally damning little brothers and fucking useless angels.

"Put him on the ceiling," Ruby says to Lilith, wrapping an arm around her waist, and planting a chin on her shoulder, "and burn him just like his mommy."

"Fuck you," Dean spits, trying to get his body to move, but it's like pressing against a brick wall.  The knife slips from his fingers, falls to the ground, as Lilith presses in harder, and Dean gasps for air.

"Nah," Ruby says, "I like Sammy more.  Maybe I'll fuck him one more time before I drag him back to Hell."

Dean yells, blood pressure throbbing in his head, but he can't stop his body from inching up the wall.  He closes his eyes, not wanting to see anymore.

"You weren't that good," someone says and Dean's eyes snap back open.  Sam's hand is outstretched and Ruby coughs up black smoke, and Lilith is trembling.  If Dean had any breath, that would have been the moment he would have lost it.  Instead, he gasps weakly and feels the throb of shock and betrayal course through him. 

Sam's fingers clench slowly and Lilith doubles over.  The pressure on Dean's chest disappears and he falls, landing on his feet and grabbing the knife.  Lilith turns all her attention to Sam, punching the air, and some force hits Sam from above, crushing him to the ground.  When he looks up, his mouth and nose drip blood.  Dean pushes his feelings aside and runs for Ruby, Sam still trying to push her out of her host.

"You're outta shape for me, Sam," Lilith hisses, twisting one nail and Sam cries out.  Within seconds, Sam's chest is covered in blood.  Whatever hold he has on Ruby disappears and the demon straightens, gasping as she barely dodges Dean's first swipe with the knife.  Dean follows the momentum of his arm with a kick into her ribs.  Ruby stumbles back and grabs Dean's wrist when he thrusts the knife forward to stab her momentarily exposed stomach.  She twists, turning, forcing Dean to go with her, until they’re back to back, and then throws him over her shoulder.  Dean hits the ground hard, but holds onto the knife.  She tries to break his wrist, lowering her head, and Dean kicks her right between the eyes.  Her hold falters and Dean breaks free, scrambling to his feet. 

They face off again and out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam and Lilith fighting.  Ruby smirks slowly, dabbing at the cut on her nose.  She licks the blood off her finger and glances toward Sammy knowingly.

“Maybe I’ll let Sam have a little taste of this too,” she says.  “I know he’s missed it.”

Dean turns the knife in his hand, until it lines up with his arm. 

"I have to say," Dean says, smiling, "I'm glad I get to kill you again."

Ruby's smirk disappears.

Dean strikes again, this time going for her throat.  She bends backwards then uses Dean's own force against him, grabbing his arm and shoulder and swinging him around.  Dean goes flying, slamming into a table close to Castiel and Adam.

"Whoa, watch it," Adam says, protecting his drink.

"A little fucking help would be nice," Dean snaps.

"You're the one who wants to date his brother," Castiel says sulkily.  "So go defeat his eleven girlfriends."

"Seven!"  Sam yells and then groans as Lilith kicks him in the stomach.

"Exes," Dean corrects with a grunt as he blocks Ruby's boot to his face.  He rolls up and clips her with the knife as he goes, slicing into leg.  She hobbles back with shriek and Dean follows, slashing until she's backed into a corner.  She pants, holding her hands up as Dean presses the tip at her throat.

"Wait, wait," she begs and Dean snarls, moving onto the balls of his feet and letting gravity do the rest, the blade sinking into her neck.  She chokes on it and on her own blood, eyes flashing hellfire, and then slumps on the knife.  Dean jerks it out and the body falls lifelessly to the floor before disappearing.

Dean turns around and sees Lilith crushing Sam's throat with her sharp heels.  Her back is to him, though, so Dean approaches cautiously.  Sam scrambles at her weight, choking, finally pushing her off.  She delivers a hard kick to Sam’s ribs and Dean can hear the crack from where’s he standing.

"Hey!" Adam suddenly calls and Lilith looks up.

"I really like your top," he says.

"Really?" Lilith says, preening.

Dean stabs her right in the spine, giving it a satisfying twist.  She whimpers, body flickering with ashes and light.

"Not really," Adam says.

Dean pulls the knife free, and she's gone before she hits the ground.

Sam wheezes and coughs, pushing himself to his feet.  Dean wipes the blade, but it's free of blood, like it hasn't even been used.  Sam spits on the ground, stumbling to the bar, and grabs a drink, swishing his mouth with beer, and spitting it out again.  Dean follows, grabbing an abandoned shot of something, and swallows it.  He slams the glass back down and then reaches behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey.  He fills the glass up again and takes another shot.  Sam's silent beside him, putting pressure on his nose to stop the bleeding.

Dean doesn't know where to start.  Fury bubbles through his veins, and it's familiar.  He knows intimately what this feels like.  It's something he spent a year getting to know really well when it came to Sam.

"So, demon powers," Dean says.

Sam sniffs, checking on the blood flow with his fingers.  "Yeah."

Dean nods a couple of times, anger making him shake with it.  He takes another shot.

"How long?"

Sam shifts, glass clinking underneath his feet, and presses harder on his broken rib with a wince.

"Didn't know I had ‘em back until I tried it," Sam answers.

The whiskey stops burning after the fourth shot.

"You okay?" Sam asks gently.

"No, I'm not okay," Dean says and rubs at his eyes.  "I'm really, _really_ tired of fighting your demon groupies."

Sam shifts again, sighing irately.  "You know, I'm not enjoying this either," he says.  "In fact, I'm sick of it."

"Why don't you make me a fucking list of all the demons you've fucked, Sam?" Dean asks, slamming another shot home.  Sam looks at him sharply.

"Don't you turn this on me," Sam says.  "Don't you make this my fault."

"But it is," Dean says.  "It is your fault, Sam!"

"I didn't force you to this," Sam says, jaw clenching.  "I didn’t make you do this.  If you want to stop." Sam winces as he moves, hand going up to the back of his head, but he doesn't break eye contact with Dean.  "Then stop.”

"You say that you want this, that you want _me_ ," Dean says, "but then you're fucking whatever evil piece of shit is out there." Sam inhales harshly, looking away.  There’s silence for a long moment, except for Sam’s uneven breathing.

"You're drunk," he says shakily.

"No, no.  No, I'm not," Dean says, taking another shot, and slams the glass so hard on the bar that it goes bouncing away.  "I fucking wish I was, but I'm not.  I mean, what asshole haven't you dated, Sam?" Dean continues, hunting for another shot glass.  "Seriously?"

"Jess," Sam replies and Dean freezes, "and then you.  But I guess I should just move you to the Evil Ex list.”  Sam shoves off the bar and past Dean.

"Sam--"

"Fuck off," Sam snaps and disappears out the door.

 

:::

 

Dean doesn't see Sam for a few days.  He tries not to panic over it; they both need their space.  Adam keeps him up-to-date with texts Sam sends him, things like 'Went to hospital. Ribs okay' and 'I'm all right' and 'Yeah, you can tell him to fuck off'.  Dean has no idea where he's staying, but he's obviously keeping his phone charged, so it's all right.  It's going to be okay.

They both need to cool down, let what happened between them be forgotten.  Dean's never been a quitter, but this.  This is just too much work.  It was hard enough being a big brother, but Dean was good at that.  He knew what he needed to do with that; cheer Sammy up when he was down, take care of any life threatening wounds, and make Sam as annoyed as possible with his eating, sleeping, and breathing habits.

Dean can do that.  He doesn't think he can do anything else.

"Dude, are you hugging his sweatshirt?" Adam asks from the doorway, bagel halfway to his mouth.  Dean jerks, throwing Sam's favorite hoodie behind him.  He was just looking at it, was all.  Just seeing if it needed to be washed. 

Adam gives a long-suffering sigh and bites into his food.

"You've gotta let this go, man," he says.

"Let what go?" Dean says gruffly, getting up from the bed and grabbing his jacket.  "It's gone, it's let go. Letten go.  Whatever."

"Whatever, then," Adam replies and chews thoughtfully.  "Saw Sam today while you were at work."

"Oh yeah?" Dean says, tone carefully controlled.  He doesn't care.  He doesn't.

"Yeah," Adam says, just as easy.  "He was acting a bit weird.  He didn't look like he recognized me."

"Huh," Dean says because he doesn't care, doesn't care, doesn't care.

"Yeah, huh." Adam moves away to the living room and Dean follows after him, going for the front door.

"See you," Dean says and walks out.

If his feet take him right to the coffee shop Sam haunts, it's just a coincidence.  He glances through the windows first, checking for a floppy-haired giant.  He doesn't want to run into him, is all.  And, ah, there he is.  Sam's bent over some coffee, staring into it like the drink owes him some mighty big answers, and it better pay up now or else.  Dean shifts on his feet, feeling the gravity of Sam pull him forward, and resists just in time, walking past the door, and further down the street.

Winter is settling in for a long haul this year and the snow crunches underneath Dean's feet, frozen from the chill the night before.  He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep warm, takes a long walk around the street, and finds himself back at the coffee shop.  He looks in and Sam hasn't moved one inch. 

Dean sighs, lifts his hand to the door to walk in, but then catches a dark shadow to his left.  He turns his head, but it's gone.  He squints against all the white layering over everything, heart starting to pound as he realizes how quiet it is, how there doesn't seem to be anyone around.  Dean looks at the alleys, the spaces between the houses down the street.  He can't even hear another living thing around; no cars, no children screaming, no music from the music store next door.  Maybe it's another one of Sam's exes, maybe it's following him and Sam, but that's stupid, they aren't--

The bell of the coffee shop door rattles open and Dean jumps, turning to see Sam standing there.  He looks at Dean like he's coming out of a fog, wheels turning as Sam comes awake and sees what's in front of him.

"Oh, hey," Sam says casually.  Dean gulps, affronted and concerned.

"Yeah..." Dean says uncertainly.  "Hey."

Sam rocks on his heels, looks back at the shop.  "You going in?"

"Yes-er, no," Dean says and rubs the back of his neck.  "Look, I just want to know if you're all right."

"Oh," Sam says, eyebrows rising.  His face shutters through a few emotions, until it settles on… _sympathetic_.  What the hell?  "I'm fine, Dean."

"You can come back to the house, you know," Dean says.  "I won't.  I won't do anything to you."

Sam blinks a few times, swallowing.  He looks down at his gloveless fingers.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Sam says.  It’s not a hopeful tone, like Dean is expecting, but more regretful, like Sam is…like he’s going to…

“I think we should break up,” he says finally. Dean blinks.

“What?”

“Break up,” Sam says again. “As a couple, I mean.”

Sam exhales, breath a hot fog evaporating in the air.  He looks around them awkwardly and Dean tries to get his mouth to work, but like always, Sam’s thrown him a curveball and left him reeling.

“Seriously?” Dean chokes out.  “After all that?”

“On the bright side,” Sam says, a small smile on his face like he can’t tell that Dean’s heart is fucking breaking, “no more evil exes.”

Dean flounders, mouth gaping like an idiot.

“It wouldn’t have worked out, Dean,” Sam says gently, “if you really think about it.”

“It could’ve,” Dean says stubbornly.

“Aw,” Sam says and it sounds cold, like a parent humoring a small child when all they really want to do is laugh in their face.  He steps forward and takes Dean’s face in his hands, tilting it just right.

“No, it wouldn’t’ve,” Sam says firmly, his eyes dark.  “And it’s time for you to wake up and face that reality.”

Sam smiles again, like grinning is going to make this all okay.  Like Dean’s supposed to be happy about this.  He pats Dean on the cheek and says cheerfully, “See you at home, then?”

And then Sam walks away, like he always does.

 

:::

 

Dean goes to a bar.  He picks a spot at the counter, far from the door, orders a couple shots of whiskey, and slams them down in quick succession.  The bartender gives him a sympathetic wince, but Dean can’t even feel the burn.  The tight feeling in his chest is all he can focus on; he can’t get enough air, and in some distant part of his mind, he’s raging a war between shooting a lot of people or sobbing like a girl.  Both ideas sound like shit, so he orders more liquor.

By the time it’s five o’clock, Dean is drunk as fuck and he’s out of money.  He must have texted Adam because suddenly his little brother is there, lifting him onto his feet.

“Come on,” Adam says softly and Dean grunts, trying to help, but his boots keep slipping.  Then Castiel’s grabbing the other side, and in a blink, Dean’s back at home.

“I want angel powers,” Dean decides and burps loudly.

“Let’s get him in the shower,” Adam suggests.

“Okay,” Castiel says enthusiastically.

Dean tries to voice something along the lines of ‘no shower sex or groping’, but all really comes out is, “Nososheroping.”

“That’s right, buddy,” Adam says absently, setting him down on the toilet, and starting the shower.  “And after that, we’ll sober you up.”

Dean thinks that’s a really horrible idea and says, “Fuck, no.”

"I will use my angel powers again," Castiel tempts.

"You really need to sober up, Dean," Adam says seriously, grabbing Dean by the face.  "All right?  Trust me on this.  And you have a guest."

"Ben?" Dean slurs and starts trying to get out of his shirts.  Adam takes pity on him and helps him, then shoves him in the shower with his jeans still on.  Castiel casts Adam a mildly disappointed look.  The younger man frowns at him and shoves the angel out of the bathroom.

"Don't drown," Adam says and shuts the door.

Dean buries his head under the spray, opening his mouth to let the water soak his parched tongue.  The world sways behind his closed eyes, and he presses his hands against the shower wall to hold himself steady.  Then he remembers how Sam pressed him down right there and jerks his hands away. 

With a sigh, Dean turns the water off and stumbles over the lip of the tub.  A towel waits for him on the sink and after stripping his jeans off, he wraps it around his waist.  When he walks out, he can hear Adam and Castiel in the living room and follows their voices.  Castiel is waiting at the doorway and he turns to greet him.  Before he can stop him, he presses two fingers to Dean's head.  Instantly, the haze of alcohol is gone, replaced by a raging headache, and Dean grunts, stumbling.

"Fucking asshole," he says, grabbing his head and the pain in his chest in back.  Something has to fill it, to stop it; maybe shooting Castiel a few times will help.

"Oh my," someone else says, and Dean looks between his fingers at the kitchen table.  Becky is sitting there, cup of tea in hand, and her eyes are glued to Dean's naked chest.  Dean coughs, shifting his feet for a quick retreat.

"You know, I always thought Sam was the really handsome one," Becky says.  "But you're not so bad yourself."

"Uh, hi Becky," Dean says lamely and then runs to the bedroom.  He used to think Becky's crush on Sam was hilarious; now, he knows how completely creepy it is.

Dean comes back to the living room, dressed in as many layers as possible, and Becky is still there.

"So, um, what's up?" Dean asks on his way to the kitchen.  He grabs the aspirin stashed there and swallows them dry.

"Just checking in on you and Sam," Becky replies and then frowns.  "Adam says you two aren't doing so well."

"We're fine."  Dean fills a glass with lukewarm water, taking a few grateful gulps.

"Is it because Sam wants to top?" Becky asks and Dean chokes, spitting water all over the refrigerator.

"What?" he yells, face flaming.

"Don't be shy," Becky says. "I'm an expert in gay sex."

"What the hell?" Dean looks at Adam, eyes accusing.

"I didn't say anything," his brother replies, palms up.  "She knew all about you and Sam's freaky relationship without my assistance."

"Have you been stalking us?" Dean asks, turning back to Becky.

"Yeah, for a couple of days now," she says, shrugging.

"But _why_?"

"Oh!" says Becky , looking embarrassed.  "I'm Sam's fifth evil ex."

Silence.

"Come again?" Dean says, tilting his head.  Maybe there's water in his ears.

"Granted, I'm not really evil," Becky muses mostly to herself.  "But they needed another ex for the League.  He said he wanted to have a balance, like the seven evil sins, and I was happy to help!"

“He who?” Dean demands.

"You do realize that you have to try to kill him, right?" Adam interrupts.

"What?" Becky glances at Dean and then back at Adam.  "You think I can't take him?"

Adam looks like he's trying really hard not to laugh.

"Look, it doesn't matter," Dean cuts in harshly.  "Sam and I are through."  He looks away from everyone and goes searching for more alcohol.  Surely Adam has a stash somewhere.

"But," Becky says, sounding crushed, "but that's not right.  You're soul mates!"

Dean laughs unkindly, throwing open the cabinet doors.  "Oh yeah?  And who told you that nonsense?"

"Chuck," she says.

"Chuck the prophet," Dean says sarcastically, "Chuck the brilliant pain in my ass.  Well, he saw wrong."

"He didn't see wrong," Becky says firmly, with just enough anger in her voice to make Dean turn to look at her.  "Chuck's God, so I think he would know."

For the second time that night, Dean's stunned into silence.  He stares at the fangirl, beginning to really wonder about her stability.

"Oh yeah?" Dean finally says.  "And, uh, how's that working out for ya?"

Becky looks down and picks at the tag to her tea, a little frown on her face, "Well, long distance relationships are hard."

"You don't say," Dean replies, trying to keep a straight face.

"Look, can we not talk about this?" Becky asks and Castiel goes to stand beside her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.  She smiles a bit and pats his hand, then looks back to Dean.  "I said I would join the League because I knew that they would end up destroying you and Sam and I couldn't let that happen.  You two are the most stubborn, idiotic people I've ever read--and met--and I knew somehow you'd fuck it up."

"Me?" Dean says angrily.  "He's the one who broke up with me!"

"Because you wouldn't admit how much you want him!" Becky yells back. 

"He knows I do," Dean says.  "You think I'd just fuck any brother I have?" He looks at Adam. "No offence."

"None taken," Adam replies.

"Once Sam told you how much he loves you, wants you," Becky says, "you freaked out, didn't you?"

Dean blinks, shaking his head. "How did you know about that?"

"Hello?" Becky says, pointing at herself.  "I fucking studied the gospels and wrote about your incestuous love fest for years.  Now answer the question: did you freak out?"

Dean turns away, swallowing hard.  His hands flex and he mindlessly grabs a few things, shuffling them into a different position.

"You think you’re not good enough," she says softly.  "Not good enough to keep him."

Dean shoves all the cereal boxes back on the counter and bangs around the pots and pans because he doesn't want to hear this complete stranger voice every thought he's ever had.  It's like she can see right into his head.

"Dean, you need to stop punishing yourself for wanting him for so many years,” Becky continues.

Dean startles, dropping the pots with a clang on the stove.

"You were twenty, I think," she says.  "Sam just came home from a basketball game--"

_Sam was seventeen.  He came through the door in a burst of sunlight, all noise and sweat, bouncing a basketball right into the house, and Dean yelled at him to shut up because he was watching a movie.  It was some new release Sam rented a couple of days ago.  The acting was all sorts of awful, but it had that one chick, Sarah Geller, and she was really hot.  She was practically running around in a nightie throughout the whole film, and Dean was enjoying all the bare skin.  He remembered he hadn't been laid in weeks.  Sam plopped his stinky ass on the couch, getting right into Dean's space, and rubbing his slick arms all over Dean's clean shirt._

_"Fucking gross, dude," Dean grumbled, halfheartedly shoving him away.  Sam laughed and settled more firmly._

_"Go take a goddamn shower," said Dean, but he wasn't really bothered by Sam's sweat.  It was more of a comforting smell, bringing back memories of practicing their aim in Minnesota, Sam still heaving for air after Dad made him run around the whole field when he got lippy, or when Sam was pouring buckets before his first date, or after a hunt, when Sam was so tired, he just fell into bed instead of taking a bath.  Sam's sweat was ten times better than the smell of Sam's blood, which always made Dean go off the handle, exploding into a million bits of **I've fucked up** and **Sammy** and **oh shit**. _

_Sam's sweat meant life and home and love and Dean kind of breathed it in, settling a hand in Sam's long, sweaty hair and playing with it while he watched the Gellar chick rub herself all over her stepbrother.  She was making the most awesome noises, little breaths that Dean loved to hear from girls, and in some fucked up way, it was kind of hot to watch.  He was even getting a little hard himself and if Sam's presence right next to him got him a little harder, well.  He could hardly be blamed for it._

_Until he imagined Sam and him in a similar situation, Sam across his lap, rubbing his hand against his cock, and whispering and oh fuck.  His hand tightened involuntarily in Sam's hair and then his brother was turning, saying "Dean?" and he was up like a shot, trying to not run to the bathroom._

"Fuck," Dean says, rubbing his face and staring horrified at the wall.  He forgot all about that, suppressed it so far down, because it was wrong and sick and goddamn, it still makes him hard, like it was just yesterday.  "Oh, fuck.  _Fuck_."

Dean's so busy with his mental breakdown that he doesn’t even notice Becky guiding him to the kitchen table until she pushes him into the seat. She takes the one across from him, and Dean puts his head in his hands. 

"Dean, stop it," Becky orders firmly and smacks him upside the head when he doesn’t.  Dean blinks, looks at her surprised and wrecked.

"You're afraid Sam's going to leave you again," Becky says softly, "aren't you?"

 _Correction_ , Dean wants to say, _He already has_.

"Is that why you pushed him away?"

"I did not push him away, lady," Dean finally snaps. "He walked out that door all on his own."

"Because that's what he thinks you want!"  Becky says.  "He doesn't know how much he means to you."

"Sam knows fine."

"He knows how much he means to you as a brother.  Have you told him what he means to you as a lover?"

"Jesus," Dean curses, rubbing his face.

"Dean, seriously?" Adam pitches in.  "I thought I told you to tell him this stuff already!"

"Humans like to know their worth in another's eyes," Castiel notes and pauses.  "Angels too."

Adam clears his throat.  "Well, I think you're pretty randy, Cas."

"Thank you," Castiel says confusedly.

"Fine!" Dean bellows.  "Say I do all that stuff.  Where's the guarantee that he'll stay?  That he won't leave at the first opportunity like he always does?"

"There isn't," Becky says with a smile.  "It comes down to whether you trust Sam or not."

And that's really what it always comes down to, isn't it?  Does Dean trust Sam enough to not make bad decisions?  Does he trust Sam enough to take care of himself?  Does he trust Sam enough not to break his heart?

"Do you, Dean?"

Dean looks up, unsure.  Becky shakes her head fondly and takes one of his hands.

"You trust him with your life. This really isn't all that different."

Dean thinks about everything they've gone through.  All the patterns their lives have fallen into.  And suddenly, one thing stands out to Dean crystal clear:  Sam always finds his way back to Dean. 

Becky gives his hand a squeeze and then stands up with a happy sigh.

"Well, my job is finished," she says, dusting her hands off.

"That's it?" Dean flounders.

"What else do you want?" Becky asks irritably. 

"Well, what about you?"

Becky's face smoothes into a smile and she offers her hand. "Just one hit and we're done here."

Dean looks back and forth from her face to her hand before reluctantly smacking her palm.  Becky instantly explodes into glitter and he flies back, surprised.

"Oh shit!" he cries.  "Oh _shit_ , I didn't mean to--I didn't even know I could do that!"

Adam sighs heavily, standing up.  "I'll go get the broom."

“What did I just do?” Dean asks, still in a panic. 

"Do not worry, Dean," Castiel says.  "She's with Chuck now."

Dean calms instantly.  “Oh.  Well, I’m going to go find Sam then.”

Adam shouts after Dean as he runs out of the apartment. “I’m not your fucking maid, asshole!”  But by then, Dean’s in the Impala and he’s off.

 

:::

 

Now that Dean is actively looking, it’s harder to find Sam than ever before.  Why is that?  Dean tries his cell phone a few times, but either Sam is ignoring him or he doesn’t have it with him. 

“I need your angel mojo,” Dean says into the phone when Castiel picks up.

“What for?”

“To find Sam,” Dean says.

There’s a pause, followed by a long sigh.

“Please, Cas,” Dean says.  He sighs himself.  “I’m sorry.  I know that you… but you also know why I pick Sam, right?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything for a long moment.  Dean even checks his phone to see if he hung up on him, but the seconds keep ticking on, and if he listens carefully, he can hear the TV in the background and Adam’s low laugh.

“If things were different…” Dean starts.

“I will help you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says and his voice is thick with something that Dean can’t name.  He starts to say more, maybe another apology, but nothing is forthcoming.

“Thank you,” Dean says finally.

But the call is already lost.  Dean stands listlessly for a moment then he hears the flutter of wings.  He momentarily loses his footing between time and space, and then Dean’s landing in some low lit bar.  It’s empty, except for the bartender reading a Dan Brown novel behind the counter, and a familiar, hunched-up form in the back booth.  Dean glances at Castiel and nods, grateful.  Castiel grins halfheartedly, resigned.  Dean doesn’t know what to do or say to make it better, so he just moves away, boots clapping eagerly to Sam’s side.  His brother looks up, nursing a beer in one hand, and his phone in the other.

“Just saw that you called,” Sam says in greeting.  “Everything all right?”

“Yeah.  No,” Dean says and sits down on the other side of the table.  “I need to say something and I just want you to listen for once, okay?”

Sam’s eyebrow piques and his mouth starts opening, but Dean beats him to the punch.

“Seriously, man.  Just listen,” Dean pleads, palms bared.  Sam sighs, takes a sip of his beer, and nods.  Dean looks over at Castiel and gives a slight nod.  The angel nods back, but doesn't leave, and takes a seat at the bar.

“I’m sorry about before,” Dean continues more quietly, looking back at Sam.  “I didn’t know how to say.  I’ve never had to—well, you know.”

Sam looks confused, biting his inner cheek in thought.

“I do want you,” Dean clarifies, finally.  “Probably more than you’ll ever know.”

 Sam’s smile is slow, like a sunrise after a successful hunt.

 “What I’m trying to say,” Dean says, “is that I don’t want to give up or stop this.  Because, uh.” His rising embarrassment brings him to stop, and he looks at Sam imploringly.  But Sam keeps giving him the stare down and Dean sighs loudly.  Apparently Sam is a girl and needs to hear this stuff.  He runs his hand through his hair, frustrated. “I went to Hell for you, man.  I think that should tell you something about how much I…” He looks up and Sam’s smiling a bit crookedly. 

Sam abandons his drink and reaches across the table, grabbing Dean’s fumbling hands.

“You want me,” he singsongs.

“Yeah,” Dean says with an embarrassed grin, Sam’s smile too contagious for its own good.

“You love me,” Sam prompts, tugging Dean closer.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dean says with an eye roll, letting himself be pulled in.

“You will soon enough,” Sam replies and kisses him.  He tastes strange, but in a good way; like Dean’s favorite beer and just the hint of strawberry pie.  Sam tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and cups Dean’s ear so he can’t escape.  Not that he would; not in a million years.  The world melts away and Dean feels like he’s falling, syrupy thick into Sam’s hands.  His heart is racing and all he wants is more, more, more.  He fucking loves his little brother, everything about him, and Dean knows the only thing keeping him together is Sam’s hands on him.

Sam licks his lips when they part, looking smug and satisfied.  He rubs behind Dean’s ear, flicking his tongue to Dean’s bottom lip one last time.

“I have an awesome idea,” Sam says.

“Yeah?” Dean prompts, breathless.  He can’t keep his eyes off Sam, he’s so fucking gorgeous and everything he’s ever wanted.  Dean wants to _do_ something, show Sam how crazy he makes him feel.

“You should kill Castiel,” Sam says, smiling. 

Dean’s heart leaps at the grin, wanting to see it again and again.

“Okay,” Dean agrees.  Sam beams, looks ecstatic, and Dean kisses him again because it’s too much, he wants him so much.  He’s hard in his jeans and he wants to fuck Sam right on this table; who cares who sees them.  They should be glad just to witness it.

“And then we’ll kill Adam,” Sam says when Dean releases them for air.  “It’ll be just you and me again, Dean.  Can you imagine?” 

Yes, Dean can imagine that quite clearly.  Sam, Dean, the highway, killing monsters, and long nights in nondescript motels across the country, filled with fucking.  Dean wants all of that so much; no angels poking in when they’re not wanted, no demons trying to split them apart, and no other family or old ties trying to hold them back.

“Lisa?” Dean asks.  Sam groans a little, eyes burning into Dean’s.

“Yeah,” he gasps, “yeah, fucking kill her too.  You’re mine, Dean.  You gotta kill everyone that will keep us apart.”

Dean nods frantically, desperate for that kind of future.  Sam lets Dean go, nodding his consent, and Dean stands up, heading right for the angel.

“Cas,” Dean says, trying to be as calm as possible, but Castiel looks at him suspiciously.

“Are you all right?” Castiel asks.

“Fine,” Dean says quickly.  “Lemme see your knife.”

Castiel looks unsure, but he digs in his trench coat, and stands up.  He hands it over to Dean and looks over the hunter’s shoulder at Sam.

Dean takes the split second of distraction to drive the sword into the angel’s gut, but Castiel sweeps out of the way just in time.  Dean attacks again with a wide swing.  The angel dodges again and the knife swipes the bar free of abandoned, empty glasses.  The bartender squawks, diving behind the counter to avoid the flying glass. 

“Dean!” Castiel says, palms up.  “Stop!  What are you doing?”

“What I fucking should have done years ago,” Dean growls, blood pumping in his veins.  He goes for the angel’s throat, but Castiel's too fast.  He goes on the offensive with Dean’s exposed stomach, punching him hard, and Dean gasps, falling to his knees.  He tries to hold onto the knife, but pain and lack of air make his fingers weak, and Castiel rips it away.

“Sam,” Castiel says neutrally.  “You seem…different.”

“I’m just everything Dean wants now,” Sam says, “if that’s what you mean.”

“No,” Castiel says.  “It’s more than that.” Castiel pauses, blue eyes squinting in thought, and then he waves his hand.  Sam starts screaming and Dean gasps, turning around.  Sam’s flesh is literally melting off him in big chunks and Dean yells.  He leaps to his feet, attacks Castiel with everything he’s got to make him _stop_ , God no, not _Sammy_.  Castiel bats away his advances then uses the knife, swiping at his arm, and drawing blood.  He whirls Dean around and grasps him from behind, hand like a vice over Dean’s throat, using him as a shield and forces Dean to watch Sam burn up like his mother.  He sobs brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut, and hopes for Castiel to finish him off because he can’t live without him, not without Sammy.

“Motherfucker,” Sam says and Dean eyes snap open.  Sam is grotesque, all burnt down to grey and rotten muscle.  His eyes are mere slits and his mouth is a gaping hole with slivers of skin keeping his lips together.  He’s still the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen.

“You’re not Sam,” Castiel says.  “Siren.”

“Dean,” he hisses.  In a blink, Sam’s skin, hair, eyes, lips—they’ve all grown back and he beckons for Dean.  But the angel won’t let him go, squeezing down on his throat, choking off his air, until Dean’s knees are weak.

“You must be the sixth ex,” Castiel says.  “Curious; Dean said Bobby killed you.  How are you alive now?”

“Same as the rest,” Sam replies and Castiel brings them a step closer.  “He resurrected us to bring Sam back.”

“Sam,” Dean says, desperately.  “Get out of here.  Please.”

Sam’s eyes flick to him but before he can say anything, Castiel asks, “Who?”  And then Sam smiles real slow.

“I think you know.”

Castiel shoves them closer and Dean fights weakly, choking as Castiel squeezes down.

“Cas, don’t, please,” Dean gasps out.  “I love him, please.”

“Do you honestly think I care about him?” the siren hisses. “I’ll kill him and then I’ll kill you.”

“No,” Castiel replies and he’s shoving the knife in Dean’s hand.  The siren lifts his hand to block but Castiel is fast.  Dean yells, agonized, as the knife he and the angel hold sinks into Sam’s belly. 

Then Dean is blinking, coming awake.  He looks up and watches blood slowly drip out of the siren’s mouth.

“Nick,” Dean breathes and stops struggling in Castiel’s hold.  The siren chuckles and Castiel jerks the sword free.  The monster crumbles to his knees.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asks, breathing heavily.  “You son of bitch, what did you do with him?”

“Sam’s gone,” the siren says, choking and laughing on his own blood and poison.  “Back to where he belongs.”

“Where?” Dean shouts.

Nick smiles.  “Lucifer.”

Dean growls in outrage, grabbing the knife from Castiel and stabbing the piece of shit in the neck.  The siren immediately stills and then, like all the rest, disappears.

“Lucifer is behind all of this?” Dean asks, panting.  He picks up Castiel's knife from the ground.

“It seems that my brother does not like to share,” Castiel says.

Dean nods shakily, cleaning his blood from the blade, and handing it back.  Castiel puts the knife back in his coat.

“Will you help me, Cas?” Dean asks weakly.  “I can’t…I can’t do this without you.”

“You need to defeat Lucifer,” Castiel says.

“I know.”

“Do you know how?”

“No fucking clue.”

Castiel makes a small noise and nods.  “I am with you then.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head.  “Just like that?”

“I have faith in you,” Castiel replies. 

Dean smiles and offers his hand.  Castiel takes it in a firm grip and whisks them out of the bar.  Dean might not have any idea how to beat the devil, but maybe with enough anger and an angel on his shoulder, Dean might have a chance.

 

:::

 

It’s Castiel’s idea to bring Adam.  At first, Dean is adamant that they do this alone, but the angel explains how the cage is a twisted world all on its own.

“It’s not subject to physics or end,” Castiel says.  “We could look for a lifetime and never find where Lucifer has your brother.  But Adam’s been there.  He might be able to navigate.”

“How did you find them last time, then?” Dean asks, turning down the street.

“I looked for a very long time,” Castiel says quietly.  “A couple of weeks on earth; maybe ten years down there.  Like I said, the cage does not submit to time and space.  I only found them because Lucifer wasn’t hiding them.  He will not make the same mistake again.”

Dean nods, frowning.  “Can Adam…do you think he can handle it?”

“Yes,” Castiel says with complete certainty.  “Your brother is stronger than he appears.”

Dean looks at the angel from the corner of his eye and says, “That so?”

“It is true,” Castiel says, not noticing.  “For a human.  He makes the best out of what was given to him in this life and tries not to let the past consume him.  I envy him.”

Dean rubs his jaw, smiling to himself as he steers the car back to the apartment.

“All right. We’ll ask then.” 

 

:::

 

“Seriously?” Adam says, eyes wide.

“You don’t have to do this,” Dean replies.

“We need you,” Castiel says firmly.

Adam looks shaken and he walks unsteadily back into the kitchen where he was making dinner.  He turns off the stove, moving the hot plate to the cooled coils.  Castiel follows after him and pauses in the doorway.

“So, I guess you’re going to miss the Die Hard marathon,” Adam says.  The ‘you’ and not ‘we’ is explicit.

Castiel nods hesitantly.  “I was looking forward to watching this American hero triumph over evil with you.  He sounds like a remarkable human.”

“Cas,” Adam laughs a little, “you do know that John McClane isn’t real, right?”

“You could record it,” Castiel suggests shyly, “and we can watch it together later?”

Adam leans against the counter and crosses his arms, watching the angel from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah?” he says softly.  “That a promise, then?”

They look at each other for a long moment, and Dean realizes that they’ve completely forgotten he’s in the room.  Something passes between them, like when Dean knows exactly what Sam’s thinking.  Castiel’s tense mouth releases, growing more vulnerable, and Adam looks away, bracing for whatever comes next.

“Please, Adam,” the angel asks gently. 

“Why should I?” Adam asks.

Castiel looks down and picks at the frayed edges of his trench coat.  “I know you don’t want to leave Sam there.”  When Dean looks back at Adam, his brother’s face is slightly ashen, like the mere thought of abandoning anyone to Lucifer’s torment makes him physically ill.

“And it isn’t about lack of courage or fearing Lucifer and Michael,” Castiel continues.  Adam’s eyes reel back quickly, blue eyes daring for anyone to say otherwise.  “But more of the fear that if something goes wrong, you’ll be left behind.”

Dean breathes in sharply and says without thinking, “Adam, I wouldn’t--”

“Don’t worry about it, Dean,” Adam says, eyes never leaving Castiel.  “I understand.  If it was a choice between you and my mother, I think you know who I would pick first.”

Dean’s mouth snaps closed.

“I will not leave you, Adam,” Castiel says.  His eyes go firm with resolve and Dean suddenly remembers that there’s an actual fucking angel in that skin, terrifying and wrathful and loyal, who fought his brothers and God himself for this family. “I promise you that.”

Adam’s carefully controlled demeanor shudders beneath Castiel’s stare and Dean moves forward.

“We can’t do this without you,” Dean says.  “I’ll never find Sam and he’ll be--”  Dean can’t choke it out.  He swallows, tries again, but he spent four months imagining what Lucifer was doing to his brother.  He can’t bare those thoughts again.

“Adam,” Dean says, “please help me.  Please help Sam.”

Adam sighs lowly, looking down at his feet.  “Goddamnit,” he whispers.  He looks up and Dean can see that Adam’s given in.  “You suck.”

“What are big brothers for?” Dean replies, smiling.  Then he realizes what he just said.  "Except with, you know, you."

Adam laughs a little bit and Castiel even colors.  "I hope not."

Adam's eyes flick back to Castiel and they share a small smile.  It's then that Dean understands that Adam isn't just doing this for Sam or even for him.  He's doing it because Castiel asked him to.

And why does the angel even bother?  It's not like he's getting anything out of this either.  Dean glances at Castiel, scrambling for reasons and justifications.

"We should prepare," Castiel says.

Adam's face scrunches up in thought.  "Uh, what exactly do you bring to a fight against Lucifer?"

"Grace," Castiel answers.

"I think we're fresh out."

"Dean does not have much hope then."

"Then why are you helping?" Dean asks.  Castiel looks over, surprised.

"I mean, I don't have a chance in hell," Dean ignores Adam's snicker at his bad pun, "so, why aren't you telling me how useless this is?"

"I could tell you the hopelessness of the situation," Castiel says cautiously, "but I do not believe it would stop you."

"Not a chance."

"And without me, your possibility of survival becomes nothing." Castiel's brows scrunch up.  "I would like you to not ascend to Heaven until it is in prime condition."

Dean blinks.  "Seriously?"

Castiel nods.  "I believe my grace will aide in your battle, but it is nothing compared to Lucifer's.  We need a better plan."

Dean huffs, thinking.  And then he remembers that CD case he found in the Impala a few days ago...

Dean looks at the two with a grin.  "I think I've got it."

He finds the case buried underneath Adam's junk by the computer.  It's kind of dusty from bouncing around in the Impala after all this time.  He brushes it away, then opens the case.  _Casa Erotica_ is written at the top and below that, in small messy handwriting, _Break in half in case of a life-threatening emergency.  Yes, I mean you, Dean Winchester.  Love, Gabriel_.

Dean shows Castiel and the angel takes it, weighs the DVD in his hand.  He suddenly stills and then jerks his eyes back to the hunter.

"Do you know what this is?"

"I'm hoping it's going to save my life, dude."

"It is," Castiel answers, "because this is Gabriel's grace."

"Huh," Adam says.  "That's handy."

 

:::

 

“Bvtmon Tabges Babalon,” Dean says, tossing the four rings to the ground.  Immediately, it crumbles away, like the earth is a thin layer separating humans from hell.  Dean steps back as the hole widens, reaching to grab Castiel in order to keep his footing.  The tree in the backyard groans and bends as the hole takes in a large breath; their neighbor’s fence rattles on their nails to be free.

“We ready?” Adam asks from behind.

Dean nods firmly, breathing deeply.  He lets go of Castiel, letting the hole’s gravity bring him closer.

“On the count of three,” Dean says.  “One…two…”

Adam gives him a large shove from behind, and Dean stumbles into the hole.

“Payback’s a bitch!” Adam crows, grinning, and then jumps in after him.

 

:::

 

Dean doesn’t remember the fall down.  Maybe he blacks out or maybe it really isn’t that far to the bottom.  Either way, when he looks around, he’s standing in a place that’s so white it hurts his eyes.  He brings up a hand, blocking some of the glow, but everywhere he turns, there’s no reprieve.  Hissing, he closes his eyes because it _hurts_ , it's so goddamn bright.  He tries to open his eyes again, but they feel heavy and resist his efforts.  The darkness behind his eyelids is barely that, a red glow and his head starts pounding against the onslaught.  Dean reaches out, stumbles, and falls into someone.

“Sh,” Castiel says, grabbing onto him.  “Cover your eyes, both of you.”

“What is this?” Dean pants, covering his eyes with his arm.  The air even tastes thick, like all the light is suppressing him, pushing him down.

“It is Lucifer’s grace,” Castiel says, sounding awed.  Like seeing it and breathing it and tasting it is full of honor.  “No longer his, forever out of his reach.  We must be very far from them.”

“Cas,” Adam says, pained, and Dean reaches out, grabbing a fistful of his brother’s jacket.

“Hold onto me,” Castiel says.  “Don’t look and keep moving.” Adam reaches back and grabs Dean’s shoulder and stumbling, they walk, Dean pulling up the rear.

“Why don’t our eyes burn out?” Dean asks, trying to keep his mind off the headache throbbing behind his eyes.

“They will, given long enough,” Castiel answers.  “And then your eyes will grow back and the process will begin again.”

“Sam,” Adam says thickly.  “When he…Michael threw him here for a year or two.”

Dean starts, surprised to finally hear about their time in Hell.

“At first, I thought it was to protect Sam from Lucifer,” Adam says.  He snorts.  “After awhile, Michael got bored with me and collected Sam.”

The oppressive feeling, the pressure on his shoulders and chest, start to lighten and Dean figures they are getting farther away from the angel’s stripped grace.  Dean opens his mouth to ask, ‘What do you mean by _bored_?’ but then Adam suddenly jerks, dragging Dean with him, and they’re falling.

“Hold on!” Castiel shouts, grabbing them both.  The wind rushes by Dean’s face and he chances to open his eyes.  The world is endless black now or maybe his eyes need time to adjust, but he can barely see anything in front of his face.  He can hear Castiel’s wings unfold, trying to slow their descent, but the wind just gets harsher, colder.  Dean grits his teeth, squeezing onto Adam’s arm as he starts to slip.

“Don’t let go!  He’s trying to separate us!”

 _He knows we’re here_ , Dean thinks.  And then, _This is really going to hurt_.

By all rights, when they hit the ground, Dean should die right away.  It’s worse because he doesn’t.  He hears his entire body shatter, bones cracking into a million pieces and insides splattering all over the ground.  His skull is crushed, and the headache he was fighting is overcome by the worst pain imaginable as the jagged pieces of his cranium dig right into what’s left of his brain.  Dean can’t see, can’t scream, every piece of him is broken, squished, shattered, splattered all over the cage floor.  He doesn’t even think he’s breathing, but he’s still there, stuck in his mutilated body, and forced to feel it all.

Eventually, he can start to hear again—maybe his ears are growing back?—and he can hear Castiel not far off.  It sounds like he’s crying, but that can’t be right.  Then there is a low groan and Castiel is speaking, but by then Dean’s voice box is restored, and he starts screaming.

A flutter of wings and Castiel is there, trying to yell over Dean.

“Hold on, I’m trying to—Hold on!” And then Castiel is far away again and Dean realizes he’s trying to heal them.  He must be taking care of Adam first, Dean thinks and tries to stop screaming so the angel can concentrate but by then, blood starts to choke him as it rushes back into his body.  Every twitch to his crushed body sends another ripple of pain through him.  His bones start to heal and it brings more agony.  Distantly, Dean can hear Adam’s screaming mixing with his own, and Castiel trying to soothe them through it.

With another snap, Dean’s ribcage is restored and he gasps for the first time.  He shudders, body and head whole again, but inside, his nerves are a wreck, shredded from the sensory overload.

After what could very well have been a year, Dean finally lifts his head.  Castiel is sitting with Adam’s head in his lap, not touching, but speaking very gently.  Adam looks whole, but dead, his eyes closed and face pale.

It takes a couple of tries for Dean to form words, voice hoarse from nonstop screaming.

“He all right?”

Castiel looks up and nods once.  Adam's eyelids flutter and he takes a sudden breath.

“And you, Dean?”

“I’ll live,” he replies, bracing himself.  When he pushes up, his body screams in protest and Dean chokes out a moan.

“I forgot about this,” Adam says, “or else I would have brought protective headgear.”

Dean chuckles breathlessly and makes his way to his feet.

“I’m sorry that I was not able to protect you from the impact,” Castiel says quietly to Adam.

“S’okay,” Adam says, grinning drily.  “You didn’t leave.”

“No,” Castiel agrees, lips turning up in the corners.  Dean waits it out, but when it doesn’t seem like they’re going to stop staring at each other, he coughs loudly.

“We better get on,” Dean suggests pointedly.  Castiel unfolds gracefully and helps Adam to his feet.

“Where to?”

Adam looks around and Dean does the same.  When he glances up, there is a single bright star in the darkness; Lucifer’s grace, shining overhead.  A chilly wind approaches from the distance, carrying a damp smell.  Dean rubs his arms to ward off the chill, but it seems to seep right down into his bones.  If he listens carefully, he thinks he can hear the ocean, which is strange.

“Do you hear that?” Dean asks.

“Sounds like water,” Adam says, confused.  “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Should we walk towards it?”

Adam nods.  The first couple of steps are the hardest, like his body is realizing it can walk again.  After a while, the ground seems to get softer and Dean looks down.  It's sparkling and he bends over, touching; it’s black sand, twinkling in the faint light.

“What is this?” Dean asks.

Castiel grunts.  “Ash and bones.”

Dean snaps his hand back and wipes it off on his pants.  He follows behind Adam and Castiel as they get closer.  He can hear the lap of water now, waves crashing into the grinded dust.  The ground gets wetter the further they go, and Dean doesn’t have to look down to know its blood; he can smell it just fine.  Sure enough, they get to their goal and it’s an ocean of blood, slapping and withdrawing into the beach.  Palm tree mockeries litter the area, made out of bone and skin.

“This is new,” Adam muses.

“Perhaps we are to cross it,” Castiel says, looking at the horizon.

Adam scans the beach, nodding towards a pair of sails off in the distance, tied to the docks.  “I think that’s too easy.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks.

“If I wanted to put an ocean between you and Sam,” Adam says, “I wouldn’t give you a boat to cross it.  Come on, let’s go this way.”

Castiel gives Adam a small, proud smile before following in the young man’s footsteps.  Dean trails behind, staring at the horizon painted red and pink.  It looks like the sunset, but it’s just blood reflecting on Lucifer’s grace. 

The group follows the palm trees as anything beyond them is darkness.  Eventually, it leads them to burnt out husks of trees and buildings.  The farther they go, the bigger the damage; Dean spots what was once a house, but is now just a single wall.  What’s left of the cars is a steering wheel or a seat. 

"There will come soft rains," Adam hums, almost to himself.

As they pass down the street, the damage seems to lessen, like whatever bomb and fire that coursed through lost steam.  Cars are more whole and houses still have all four walls; Dean can even spot a child’s toy or two in the rubble.  They are walking into what once was a small town and though they are getting farther away from the blood ocean and the darkness, Dean’s never felt more on edge.  He draws out Ruby’s knife and the Colt.

“What is this place?” Dean asks.

“Never seen it before,” Adam answers.  He stops at a rusted mailbox, opening it to look inside.  Burnt letters are still there and Adam reaches in.  He pulls out the envelopes and flips for a name; but they’re blank.

“Just for show,” Adam murmurs.

“Adam,” Dean says seriously, looking in the hollow windows of the houses around them.  “Is anything else in the cage?  Besides Lucifer and Michael?”

“Just them,” Adam says, “but that doesn’t mean they can’t create things.  Like this town.  The ocean.  Demons.  Illusions really, but they can still hurt you.”

Dean nods, jaw clenching.  “That’s what I thought.”

They continue down the street, or what’s left of it, weaving between parked cars and destroyed asphalt.  It’s so subtle a change that Dean nearly misses it, but the further they get into town, the more developed things become.  The houses become whole, painted bright and shiny, the cars new, and the coldness of the cage recedes so that Dean actually feels warm.  It even appears brighter.  When Dean looks up, he’s startled to find the sun there, shining.

The residential district ends rather abruptly after a turned corner.  Suddenly, they are on the main drag.  Mom and Pop stores line the street; a little ice cream shop sits on the corner with an old theater across.  A small grocery store, advertising avocado’s on sale, a hardware store, and a fifties dinner; Dean tries to look at the rest of the buildings, but for some reason, they become blurry, like a mirage in the distance. 

But that isn’t the weird part.

It’s the bodies strewn across the area, like they all got tired and fell to the ground asleep.  A woman and child lay on the sidewalk, a paper bag of food between them.  A man rests in his car.  An elderly couple sit by the window of the diner, heads resting beside their food on the table.  Dean resists checking them all for a pulse; they can’t be real people, right?  Instead, they give each body a wide berth, like they are about to reach out and grab them.

It’s deadly quiet; Dean can’t even hear the wind move.  The only sound for miles is their own footsteps as they walk down the middle of the street.

When they pass the theater, Dean stops for a moment to stare.  It looks familiar.  He reads the posters; Jurassic Park is one of them, proclaiming that it's a new release, and he thinks that he took to Sam see that movie when he was ten years old.  With a start, Dean realizes that it's the very same theater they went to see it in.  Dean turns, looking at the ice cream shop a little harder and sure enough, Dean remembers how six year old Sammy begged and _begged_ to stop for ice cream one day.  John finally stopped, Dean can’t remember where, but he can recall how Sam’s eyes lit up when they pulled in to the parlor.

The ocean.  Sam loves the ocean.

“Hold up,” Dean orders gruffly.  Adam and Castiel turn.  “These are Sam’s memories.  I recognize these places.”  Dean looks down the street separating the ice cream shop and the theater.  “Let’s go this way.”

“Why would Lucifer create a town made out of Sam’s memories?” Adam asks, following.  “And why the people?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, frowning.  “Maybe to trick Sam, make him think he’s still topside.  Nick must have dragged him down here.”

“Lucifer’s power is not immeasurable,” Castiel muses.  “Perhaps it is too difficult to upkeep a town and all its moving subjects.”

“Or there’s no point when the audience isn’t watching.”

There’s a sudden screech of rusted metal grinding.  All three stop instantly and draw their weapons, listening.  The screech comes again, this time like metal whistling, and then again.  Dean leads the group at a cautious pace, hugging the walls and tall fences.  In the distance, Dean can see a playground.  He instantly recognizes it, remembers when he sprained his ankle there, jumping off the wooden jungle gym to the ground.  It must have been the first time he cried in front of Sammy, because his brother was more panicked than he was.  Pale-faced, screaming for their dad, and clinging onto Dean’s hand like he thought he was going to die.

On a swing set sits a man.  Someone awake, alive; his feet push against the sand, rocking the seat gently back and forth.  The chains and bolts screech with every push.  He doesn’t appear to notice their approach, so Dean motions Castiel to take point.  Maybe it’s a demon or maybe…Lucifer.  Dean takes a firming breath, backing through an alleyway, and approaching the playground from the front while Castiel and Adam take the rear.

The screeching suddenly stops before Dean rounds a dumpster.  Dean goes stock still then kneels down, cocking the Colt as quietly as possible.  The gun didn’t work on Lucifer topside but it sure as hell stung.  It might give Castiel enough time to grab and zap them all away if they need to. 

Silence and then, “Come out,” the man says.  Dean’s jaw clenches.

“I know you’re there, Dean,” the man coaxes again.  Dean mentally swears, wiping at the sweat beading on his forehead. 

“My vessel,” he murmurs and that gets Dean standing up in a hurry.  Michael, fucking archangel, stands before him, wearing his father’s face.  John Winchester, young and fresh out of marine camp, just as Dean last saw him.  His lips curve up a bit at the sight of Dean.

“It’s good to see you,” Michael says and turns his head to say behind him, “you too, Adam.”

Reluctantly, Adam and Castiel emerge from their hiding places.  Dean watches Adam shove his hands in his coat pockets to disguise his shaking fingers.

“Brother,” Michael says in greeting.

“Michael,” Castiel says, staring at his brother, heartbroken.  “Oh, Michael…”

Something’s wrong, something’s different.  Dean looks at the archangel and yes, something is off about him.  The last time he spoke to Michael, the archangel was righteous and confident.  Despite the terrifying power he possessed, he seemed controlled and humbled.

But not anymore.

The hard glint in Michael’s eyes suggests a change in this archangel’s carefully crafted interior.  Seems Hell can even break angels.

“Be careful,” Castiel says, pulling himself together, “his grace has darkened.”

“Sit, Adam,” Michael says and with a grunt, Adam is on the ground, kneeling.  Dean moves forward and Michael turns to him.  Dean tries to raise the gun, but something tells him not to.  He blinks, tries again, but his arm doesn’t move.  Dean loses his grip on his weapons, moving up to grab his head.

‘ _Shh, it’s all right_ ,’ a voice whispers. ‘ _You’re safe with me, let go_.’

Dean hisses.  “Get out of my head.”

“Down here, Dean,” Michael informs gently, “I don’t need your permission.”

“Michael, stop,” Castiel begs.  Michael ignores him, flicking his fingers.  Dean lurches forward and Adam crawls on his hands and knees until they’re both sitting on the swing set.  Dean’s fingers curl around the chains.  He jerks back as he feels Michael’s fingers comb his hair, but they go deeper, into his brain.  His voice continues, whispering things to him, while Michael flips through the things he finds at the surface of Dean's mind.  He pushes in and in until Dean can feel him everywhere, consuming everything with light and grace.  Dean pants, head falling forward, and listens to Michael’s promises, sweet endearments.  Beyond that, Castiel is screaming something, only to be cut off. 

Michael keeps pushing and flicking things aside.  Dean struggles at first, trying to grasp onto what the angel throws away.  But soon it’s all a mess and Dean’s jumbled, confused—where is he?  Dean opens his eyes, looks around, and tries to recognize the man sitting next to him.  But then Michael is grabbing his head, turning him away.  He stares at the angel and Michael smiles at him, cupping his jaw reverently, and Dean knows peace and acceptance and love.  Michael thinks he's perfect.  Michael thinks he's _his_.

But then Michael’s hand tightens, so much that Dean grunts from the pain, and then Michael is looking away, at the boy beside them.

“What’s this?” Michael hisses.  He lets go of Dean and faces the other man.  “You forget me so easily, Adam?”

Adam.  Adam, he knows that name…

“What’s this?” Michael booms, face thunderous.  He grasps Adam’s head with both hands, forcing him to look at him.  They exchange a look, Adam fighting to keep his eyes defiant while looking ill, and then Michael’s laughing, hysterical. 

“Are you serious?”  The archangel laughs harder.  “You desire _Castiel_?”  Michael points and Dean follows the finger, to a crumbled man kneeling in the grass.  Castiel's blue eyes widen and he tries to get up, but some unforeseen force pushes him back down.  Dean looks back and Adam is rebelliously staring up at the archangel.  Michael snorts, letting him go, and takes a step back in thought.

“No matter,” the angel says. “Easy to fix.”

Michael turns away, arm rising, but Castiel’s on his feet now.  He throws his weapon, the silver knife spinning in the air.  Michael twists to the side, dodging it, and by pure chance, Adam grabs it.  It slices into his palm, but the boy quickly switches to the handle and stabs Michael in the back.  A tremendous light explodes from Michael and Dean, body obeying him now, covers his eyes.  When the light resigns, Michael is nothing but an imprint of long, ashy wings.

Adam pants, standing, the knife hanging from his fingers.  Dean stands beside him shakily, his head still kind of a mess after Michael played football with his memories.

“That felt good,” Adam says finally and swallows.

“You did well,” Castiel says and he smiles faintly.  Adam’s cheeks go a little pink.

“Adam--”

“Yeah, well,” Adam says gruffly, passing the knife back to its owner, “no time for that. Let’s go.”

“I would like to talk about--” Castiel starts again but Adam is walking quickly away, speaking loudly, “Time to kill us the devil, come on!”

Castiel sighs.

Dean awkwardly pats his shoulder.

 

:::

 

After that, it’s relatively easy to find Lucifer.  Typical.  Adam says Michael never did leave his brother’s side for long.  It’s a beautiful house, the kind Sam would love.  A modest garden in the front, linens hanging up to dry, and red shutters.  The porch is clean, beside a forgotten glass of ice tea.  Even the door's unlocked.  They walk in slowly, listening, but the house is silent. There’s a stack of books on every surface, the TV’s on, but left on mute.  The kitchen is empty, tidy, and smells like Clorox.  They walk down the hallway, then up the stairs.  At the top, all the doors are open, except for one.  They pass by a guest bedroom, a bathroom; all so normal and neat.  At the last door, Dean takes a deep breath, waits for Castiel’s nod, and then opens it.

The bedroom defies normal conventions.  Inside, it’s huge; obviously, Lucifer wanted more of a mansion than Sam’s perfect cottage.  The bed sits front and center, with gaudy transparent drapes.  Sam’s there, sleeping naked, a white sheet covering him from the waist down.  Lucifer waits for them at the edge to the bed, hands clasped between his knees.

“Welcome,” Lucifer says.  He does not smile.  “It seems you’ve already dealt with Michael.”

“It was unfortunate,” Castiel says.  Lucifer looks at him coldly, and Dean has a hysterical moment where he thinks Lucifer is going to blow him up again, so he steps forward.

“Give me Sam,” Dean orders, “and I won’t kill you.”

Lucifier's eyes draw slowly to Dean, likely he's insignificant and boring.  “Let me understand,” Lucifer says.  “You want to fight me for him?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

Lucifer chuckles, biting the corner of his lip. He looks at the colt, Castiel’s sword, and Ruby’s knife, shaking his head.  “Excuse me but I don’t think you much of a threat.”

“Believe it,” Dean says.

“Let’s make this easier on ourselves,” Lucifer says.  “Why don’t we ask Sam?”

Dean blinks.

Lucifer takes in his disbelieving expression and smiles.  “I’m reasonable.  Let Sam choose who he wants to be with.”

Lucifer turns and places a hand on Sam’s leg, shaking him gently.  Sam stirs, snuffling in his sleep, before he opens his eyes blearily.  Dean takes a step forward, but Adam grabs his coat and hauls him back with a shake of his head.

“Sammy?” Dean calls, can’t resist.  Sam glances at him sleepily, rubbing one hazel eye, and then looks back at Lucifer.  When Sam sits up, it’s only then that Dean sees the bruises and marks covering his body.

“Dean here wants to know if you want to go with him,” Lucifer says, reaching up and brushing Sam’s hair back, “or if you want to stay with me.”

Sam looks at Dean again, frowns, and then back at the fallen angel.  “You.”

Dean’s chest caves in.  He stares at the two of them, watches horrified as Sam leans down and kisses Lucifer gently.

“Well, there you have it,” Lucifer says, sitting up straight again.  “Sam’s staying with me.  Sorry you had to come all this way.”

“Sammy?” Dean tries, voice breaking.  But Sam won’t even look at him.  Instead he scoots forward until he’s draped over Lucifer, kissing his bare shoulder reverently.

“No,” Dean whispers.  Then again, more firmly. “No.”  He remembers what Michael said—that he didn’t need permission down here.  How he crept into his head, twisted it up, made Dean forget why he was even here.

“No?” Lucifer repeats, all hospitality gone.  His face is cold and wrathful and he grasps Sam’s wrist, squeezing.  “No, Dean?”

“No,” Dean says.  “I’m not leaving without him.”

Lucifer’s eyes spark blue fire, and he crushes Sam’s wrist.  The bone breaks loudly, but Sam doesn’t even whimper; in fact, he smiles, like the pain feels good.  He nuzzles into Lucifer’s hair, mouth open to deliver another wet kiss.

“Let me tell you something, Dean Winchester,” Lucifer intones, suddenly loud and fearful; the walls quake around them and Dean and Adam cover their ears, wincing.  “Sam is mine.  _My_ vessel.  He was made for _me_.  And you’re not taking him away from me.” 

When Dean looks up, blood is coming out of Sam’s eyes and ears, but he doesn’t seem to notice.  He brushes Lucifer’s hair back with his broken hand.

Lucifer growls and his skin shreds with a mighty tear, ripping away his own illusions.  His wings stretch forever, far beyond Dean’s eyesight, all twelve of them twinkling midnight black and blue.  His sword glints with Heaven’s grace and Hell’s fire and he wields it over his head with a roar.  He tries to see more, but it’s like his mind can’t comprehend it.  All he knows is that it hurts to look at Lucifer, see him in all his shadowed glory.  The ground shudders when he steps forward and Dean loses his footing, crashing to the cracked floor. 

Dean scrambles into his coat, ripping out the CD case stashed there.  He gets the disc out and holding his breath and praying, breaks the thing into two.  There’s a flash of light, consuming Dean’s entire vision, and then it’s crawling down his throat like a demon.  He chokes on it, fights against it because _what the hell_?  It settles and stretches throughout Dean and when he opens his eyes, he can _see_ Lucifer, all in his glory.  Words cannot accurately describe him.  He’s both terrifying and beautiful, with eyes a blue that Dean’s human eyes have never seen or never will again.  His hair is made out of stars and halos, sparkling into colors that a human could never process.  Dean can see literal fire coursing through Lucifer’s veins, burning bright and hot.

And Dean’s changing too.  He looks down at himself, sees his skin glowing white.  He’s even growing, meeting Lucifer’s height, and he can feel his own wings shift behind him, push the cage to its limits.  In his hand rests a sword.  The handle is made out of some sort of horn, with a narrow hollow end in which to blow.  It expands around the blade, the silver glinting, and Dean can make ancient text etched into the weapon.  It’s then that Dean realizes that this is Gabriel’s sword, that he was a messenger from God.  He swirls the weapon and the air rushes through the blade, igniting a small whistle from the instrument. 

“All fucking right,” Dean says, grinning.  Then yelps suddenly, dodging Lucifer’s blade.  Ice coats his face and then quickly melts from the flame, leaving his face half burnt.  He steps back wildly, misses the sword again by inches.  He doesn’t know where Adam is, but he can hear Castiel shouting at him so he can only hope he’s safe.  He attacks with his own weapon and it releases a loud blare, blasting at the foundations of the cage.  Dean imagines if this fight actually happened on earth, he's sure the planet would be flattened by one blow.

Lucifer meets Dean's sword with his own, and the clash brings a flash of grace meeting hellfire.  The blast burns Dean’s eyes, causes some of his wings to ignite, burning.  Gritting his teeth, Dean pushes, slides the blade against blade and brings it up, slashing through the air where Lucifer’s neck is.  The angel tilts back just in time and brings his own sword to follow.  It speeds by Dean’s ear, cuts him just lightly on top of the head, and frost and fire seals the wound shut.

“Give up, Dean,” Lucifer says, voice like singing and cutting deeper than daggers.  “You can’t win.”

“Fuck you,” Dean snarls.  “Give me back my brother, you son of a bitch.”

“Why?  So you can fuck up his life, too?”

Dean stumbles, leaving himself open, and Lucifer's blade clips him, slicing through his arm.  Fire races through his veins and he cries out, trying to keep his grip on his sword. 

“Let’s face it, Dean,” Lucifer laughs.  “He’s going to realize how pathetic you are eventually and leave.  Just like he always does.”

He dodges Lucifer’s next couple of attacks, but they’re sloppy and he staggers back from the battle with a few new wounds. Panting, Dean tries to push the angel’s words away, but they won’t, digging in like leeches and sapping at his strength.  No.  _No_.  Growling, Dean charges into the fight, forcing Lucifer back.  But he can already feel Gabriel’s grace leaving him and he panics, swinging wildly.  Without the angel’s grace, he’s defenseless.  There’s no way he can beat Lucifer.  Fuck, fuck, fuck, Sammy!

When the devil speaks again, Dean can’t understand it.  It’s nothing but noise, a low ringing getting louder and louder.  Dean groans, covering his ears as blood seeps between his fingers, and falls to his knees.  He curls up, defenseless, and he doesn’t know what to do, how to stop this.

Lucifer lets his sword fall and Dean knows nothing more.

 

:::

 

Dean opens his eyes, expecting Heaven.  Instead, he’s in the desert.  The sun beats on him mercilessly from above.  He moves a few steps in one direction, but there’s nothing but a shimmer of endless sand.  What’s the point?  He falls to his knees beside a cactus and puts his face in his hands.  He failed; he always was pretty good at that shit.

So lost in his own misery, it takes Dean awhile to hear her.  He lifts his head, listening.  Then gets up on his feet, scanning the horizon, and there; a flash of glinting black, slowly approaching.  Despite the ache in his chest, Dean can’t help but smile.  The Impala roars closer and closer and he hopes that it’s Sam behind the wheel, coming for him.

The Impala roars up and the driver twists the wheel, missing Dean narrowly. Dean looks through the passenger window, frowning to beat Sam’s grin. 

“Hey,” Sam says and gets out of the car.

“Motherfucker, you almost hit me,” Dean says.

“You’re dead.  What do you care?”

Dean huffs, shaking his head.  He squints around them, daps at the sweat on his forehead.  “Feels pretty real to me.”

Sam folds his arms over the top of car, resting his chin on them, and watches Dean come closer, put his hands across the top and clasp them together.

“Sorry,” Sam says.

Dean shrugs, flicking his eyes down and up again.  “Would have ruined it somehow anyway, Sammy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno, Dean.” Sam smiles, squinting so hard that Dean can’t even see the hazel of his eyes.  “You did pretty good all my life.  What makes you think that’ll change?”

Dean looks at the Impala’s hood, mouth open to say something, but he can’t think of what it was.  When he looks at Sam, his brother’s still smiling and he reaches across the divide, punching Dean’s fist lightly.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

“I’m still dead,” Dean says, “and you’re still in the cage.”

Sam sighs.  “Yeah.”

“I really did fight for you, you know.”

“Maybe that’s your problem, Dean.”  Sam stretches his fingers out, takes Dean’s hand in his.  “Maybe you should fight for yourself.”

Dean opens his mouth, but Sam's disappeared into the sand, and Castiel’s hand is on his shoulder, ripping him away.

 

:::

 

Dean’s back outside the bedroom door.  He jerks around, trying to get his bearings and finds Castiel and Adam staring at him solemnly.

“Well, that didn’t work,” Adam says.

“I can do this,” Dean whispers, thinking about what Sam said.  About what he really wants to do.

“Let’s try this again,” Castiel says.

“I’ll need help.”

“You have it.”

Castiel takes the youngest Winchester by the shoulders, turning him away from the door, and says, “Adam, please stay out here.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Adam says.

Castiel pauses, staring at him for a long moment, before he shoves Adam against the wall and kisses him hard.  Adam blinks wildly for a moment, hands flexing the air uselessly, before he gives in with a groan, gripping the angel back.  Dean coughs really awkwardly as their tongues do a lovely tango.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize," Castiel says when he comes up for an air.

Adam shrugs underneath Castiel's hands.  "It's okay.  I already knew you were daft."

"I've been learning," Castiel protests.

Adam grins and pushes the angel off.

“So go fucking kill the bastard and get Sam so we can go home,” Adam says, "and you can show me all you've learned."

Castiel smiles.  “Okay.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Are we ready now?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever.”

Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out the DVD.  With a grin, he breaks the thing in half.  “Round two.”

 

:::

 

Castiel and Dean come barging into the room, swords swinging.  Lucifer sheds his meat suit quickly, yelling in outrage, and his own sword rises to meet theirs.  But they’re quicker and Dean knocks his blade aside, while Castiel dives into the opening.  His silver blade cuts into Lucifer’s flesh before his wings carry him away.  Castiel flaps back on his four wings, a smaller version in comparison to Dean and Lucifer, but his grace shines and his blue eyes burn bright.  And he’s fast, attacking Lucifer from behind before the archangel even know he’s there.  The devil dodges forward and is met with Dean.  Their blades clash into one another and Gabriel’s horn howls with each swing, blaring the cage into rubble. 

Lucifer finally breaks away from between them, powerful wings pushing him into the air.  Dean and Castiel follow, chase him until he can go no further, and attack again.  But for each swing of his sword, Dean and Castiel aren’t there, dodging and weaving out of the way.  And finally, he leaves himself open.  Dean’s sword sinks into Lucifer’s shoulder, Castiel’s dives into the other one, and Lucifer howls.  Dean slams his foot into Lucifer’s chest, kicks him off their blades and Lucifer rockets back to the ground.  The crash itself would have decimated Earth, but instead it just echoes throughout Hell, shuddering demons free from spikes and chains and racks.  Fire roars around the cage, lava coursing down the sides, and the demons shriek from outside as their Hell descends into more chaos.

Dean touches down and swings Gabriel’s sword in a large circle, releasing one more deafening blare from the horn that all of hell trembles beneath.  Lucifer rises to his knees, tries to push himself up, but slips in the rubble.  He watches Dean’s approach, panting, and silver blood oozes from his wounds and past red lips.

“All this…for Sam?” Lucifer asks as Dean raises the sword.

“No,” Dean replies.  “This is for me.”

Dean swings the sword down with all his strength, and Lucifer raises his own sword to block it, but it isn’t enough.  Lucifer’s blade shatters like glass beneath the blow, and Gabriel's sword slices right between Lucifer’s shocked blue eyes.

Dean jerks the blade free and the horn howls triumphant.  Lucifer’s descends into light, exploding outwards like stardust.  Dean closes his eyes against the blast and when he opens them again, he’s lying in the snow, Gabriel’s sword and grace gone.  Dean blinks and sits up.  The world is quiet and dark.  Dean gets to his feet, stumbles without the weight of wings to support him, and calls out.

“Cas?  Sam?”

Dean turns once, then again, searching through the falling snow.   He walks towards a lone streetlight further down the road and squints, recognizing some of the dark houses he passes.  He’s…back home?  Dean hurries down the street and finds Castiel and Adam waiting for him, leaning against the Impala.  Castiel’s back in his meat suit, wearing a small smile, and Dean’s hugging him before he even knows that he wants to.

“How did we get back here?” Dean asks.

“No Lucifer,” Castiel says, “no cage.”

“Well, that’s handy.”

Dean looks around him, but there’s no hulking figure nearby.

“Then,” Dean says, “where’s Sam?”

Adam nods towards the house, where a small light shines inside.  Dean leaves the two, running towards the door to their apartment.  He scampers down the stairs and Sam is opening up to meet him, zipping up his favorite brown coat.  They both stop when they see each other.

“Hey,” Sam starts. “I was about to go look--.”

Dean eats up the remaining distance, grabs Sam by the face, and kisses him frantically.  Sam’s got stubble after days from not shaving, and it scrapes against his top lip and his fingers.  Sam’s arms circle around Dean, bringing him closer, and he kisses Dean back just as hard. 

“Dean,” he says between kisses, “Dean, wait.”

“Fuck no,” Dean growls and he’s shoving them both back inside the apartment.  Dean keeps pushing until Sam runs into the coffee table and loses his balance, lips ripping away as he sits down hard on the surface.

“Dean, wait,” Sam says again breathlessly, eyes dark.  Dean tears off his jacket and Sam makes a low moan, hands coming up to grab his waist, thumbs digging in underneath his shirt and into his hipbones.  Dean grabs the garment and rips it over his head and Sam practically whines, shortening the distance and mouthing Dean’s taunt abs.  Dean holds him there, lets him tickle his skin raw with his scruff, soothe the pain away his tongue, and suck so hard that the sensation goes straight to his dick, straining underneath his brother’s chin.  He cards his hands through Sammy’s hair, grabs a hold of it at the nape, and pulls until Sam looks up at him. He tongues Dean’s happy trail with just the tip of his tongue, so soft and gentle that it tickles.  Dean wants to shrink away as much as he wants to shove Sam’s head forward, pants as he feels precome ooze out, and fuck, he wants Sam’s mouth on him again, swallowing his come.

“Dean,” Sam tries once more.

Dean grunts and manhandles Sam back to his feet.  He shoves him onto the kitchen table, and pushes him face down on top of it.  Sam’s all hard muscle and silken skin underneath Dean’s hands.  Sam moans as he pushes down his jeans and underwear, groping his ass along the way, until they’re past his knees.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want it,” Sam says breathlessly, hair in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder at Dean.  He plants a hand on Sam’s head, and pushes it back against the table.  He covers Sam’s body with his own, shudders as he feels his brother’s sweaty, hot skin against his bare stomach, and presses his mouth to his ear.

“I want it,” Dean just about growls and Sam shudders beneath him.  “And if you ever fucking leave me again, I will fucking kick your ass, do you understand me?”

Sam grunts, squirming against Dean, and tries to push himself up, but Dean grabs his wrists and pins them to the table.  Sam pants, hips rocking, ass brushing against Dean’s jean-covered dick.

“You hear me, Sam?”

“Yeah,” his brother says, “I would never, Dean, I fucking swear--”

“’cause I won, Sam.  I won and that means you’re mine.”

Sam opens his eyes, looks at Dean.  “That’s all I wanted in the first place.”

Dean groans and lets up, unbuckling his jeans hurriedly.  Sam stretches out his spine, reaches forward to grasp the other side of the table while he fights to get his feet free of his jeans.  He abandons his shoes in the struggle and then he’s completely naked, spreading his legs.  Dean fucking chokes on the extra saliva in his mouth at the sight, can’t stop himself from spreading his brother’s ass cheeks wide and seeing the pink hole himself.  Sam squirms, his muscles flexing, and his opening winks at him.  Dean imagines his dick going inside there, so small, and how tight it’s going to be, and how Sam’s going to fucking love it, get himself off on Dean’s dick. 

“Dean,” Sam whines.  “You gonna show me you own me or what?”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice.  He reaches behind him to the lotion stashed by Adam’s computer.  He squirts it into his palms, runs it over his fingers, and then spreads Sam apart again.  He presses his thumb there first, covering it completely, and rubs gently.  He’s not sure how this whole gay business works, but for some reason guys keep doing it, so it must feel good.  And if Dean were just to go by Sam’s voice…His little brother breathes heavily, napkins fluttering away from his breath, and Dean pushes in until his nail sinks inside.

“Yeah,” Sam says, closing his eyes, relaxing inch by inch.  “Put it in, Dean.”

Dean does, pushes deeper, and Sam lets him in.  Soon, Dean can thrust his thumb in and out pretty easy and Sam says, “More,” so he switches his thumb out for his pointer and middle finger.  They stretch Sam, scissoring the skin until it stretches wide, and they go in deeper, where Sam’s even hotter.  Sam is panting, rocking his hips back, by the time Dean thinks he’s ready.  He strokes his dick with the lotion, and it’s hard to stop because it feels so good.  He squirts a few more drops around Sam’s hole, before he leans over Sam’s body, and lines himself up.

“Ready?” Dean asks, just in case, though he’s not sure he would listen if Sam said no.  But Sam smiles, eyes crinkling.

“Show me what you got, jerk,” Sam says.

“Bitch,” Dean says and pushes himself inside.  It takes some force, because even after the stretching, Sam’s still tight.  His hole takes Dean’s tip right in after he breaks through and they both groan.  Sam’s hand flies away from the table to grasp Dean’s hip, rubbing his sweaty forehead against the table.

“I don’t know,” Sam pants.  “Being the bitch right now is kind of awesome.”

“Just you fucking wait,” Dean says and pushes the rest of his length in slowly.  Sam bites his lips, lets out a low whimper, but forces his body to relax.  Dean sinks in easily after that.  Dean mindlessly pets Sam’s lower back, rubbing his sweat into his skin, and tries to breathe. 

“You okay?”

“Fuck me,” is Sam’s answer.  Dean can hear the tinge of pain underneath the tone, but it doesn’t scare him like it usually does.  He knows Sam’s limits, knows when it’ll go too far.  Besides, Dean’s not sure he can wait any longer.  He grinds into Sam’s ass first, stretches him out a bit more, than withdraws into some shallow thrusts.  Fuck, it’s like shoving into a tight vice, full of heat.  Sam squeezes onto him and it feels so good.  Dean slows the pace, pulls out a little farther each time, only to snap back in hard.  Sam grunts below him, clenches his hip, and then on a particular hard angle, Sam’s breath explodes out of him, and he tightens up.

“Shit, Dean, stay there,” Sam begs, so Dean does, feels his way to hitting his brother’s prostate with his dick, rubs his slit into it until Sam is a whimpering, groaning mess.

“Knew you’d fuck me so good,” Sam says, crying out as Dean finds the spot again.  Sam shakes, curls his spine as he rides the pleasure through.  “Always wanted my big brother’s dick, fucking me like this.”

Dean groans, face flushing.  His control snaps a little bit after that, and Dean picks up the pace, diving his cock into his _baby brother_ , Jesus Christ, and Sam presses back, meets him with each thrust.  Sam’s other hand leaves the table and scrambles underneath him, stroking his dick frantically.  Dean has to hold onto his hips to keep him straight and he fucks him brutally, tension building in his lower back, and coursing down his toes, and striving for the edge, body mindless for release.

“Come inside me, Dean,” Sam says, “come inside, I want to know what it feels like, fuck.”  And Sam comes with a cry, fondling his balls.  His fingers brush Dean’s cock as it sinks in and out of him and Dean’s done.

He shoves in one last time, coming so hard he can feel it all the way down his toes.  He collapses on Sam’s sweaty back, trembling as they both catch their breath. 

“Let me be clear,” Dean pants, before he loses his nerve.

“Hm?”

“We’ll be doing this a lot more now that your evil exes are gone.”

Sam laughs breathlessly, shoulders shaking under Dean’s cheek.  “I figured.”

“Motherfucker,” Dean pulls out slowly, and collapses back into the office chair. 

“You mean brotherfucker,” Sam says around a chuckle.  Dean smacks his ass, groaning at the miserable joke, and then, as an afterthought, spreads Sam’s cheeks again before he gets up, and looks at his red, used hole.  A trickle of Dean's come drips out. A low throb courses through his body, tries to get his dick hard again, but it’s too soon.

“You done looking at your handy work?” Sam asks, bemused.

“How does it feel?” Dean asks instead.

Sam looks over his shoulder with a wicked smirk.  “Maybe you can try it later.”

 

:::

 

Morning comes and finds three lazy men and one angel lounging about a small apartment.  Dean’s never seen Castiel without his shirt off, and he tries not to be embarrassed by it.  At least Adam seems to enjoy the view.  Dean walks around in his boxers and an old shirt, holding a cup of coffee, and glaring each time Sam sniggers when he waddles by.  Fucking big dick.  He shoves his long-limbed brother over so he can squeeze onto the couch with him.  Sam elbows him and Dean kicks him back and Sam pinches him, and so Dean ‘accidently’ spills hot coffee on his brother’s bare leg.  Sam yelps like a big baby, curses like a sailor, and then proceeds to insult Dean and all his nasty habits, like chewing with his mouth open and spitting toothpaste all over the sink.  It’s good morning.

Then Adam and Sam get on the computer, talking about a possible haunting in Georgia.  Dean shares a look with Castiel and then smiles into his mug.

It’s the kind of morning Dean plans on repeating for the rest of his life.


End file.
